Newest Generation
by Jgirl53
Summary: Chloe Barakova has lived most of her life as a youth agent for Interpol. But when the man who might as well be her father gets kidnapped, she may need help to get him back. So when a mysterious group comes to help find him, can she trust them? And can she be trusted back? Post-Movie.
1. Bunker

**Disclaimer: Do I own G. I. Joe or any other recognizable reference? ****Hell no****.**

One second I was dreaming about getting a new companion gun to my beautiful high power Browning 9mm pistol. The next I was awoken by a pillow thrown at my face by my delightful guardian. Well, I didn't know it was him at first so I kinda jumped out of bed with the knife I keep under my pillow in hand. Eh, not the first time its happened, but considering I usually throw the knife, this might be a good day.

"Jesus, Barakov," I lowered the knife and addressed him by his last name, "You're losing your touch, next time try throwing something that isn't fluffy," I remarked at the graying man who was standing in my bedroom doorway with a stupid smirk on his face.

He rolled his light blue eyes at me, "You're awake, aren't you?" He answered me with that slight Russian accent he always carried with his words.

I groaned, realizing he actually won this. "I thought I could sleep in late today. Considering how I saved your ass back in Siberia yesterday," He was stupid enough to bring the politician we were guarding into a room on the top floor that had a wall of windows. Considering that the people we were protecting said politician from were on the roof just screamed stupid move. They had repelled into the room and we had to fight them off while protecting the guy who was at the time, shitting his pants in fear. And my aim with throwing knifes saved Barakov's ass from getting shot for the millionth time since I've been under his care.

"Since I'm bullet-free I am waking you up as always. Now come down for breakfast within the hour or I'm feeding yours to the dog," With that he closed my door and left me to get ready for the day.

I cursed him out under my breath and went about getting ready, all the while realizing that the sun was only just rising. My knife was securely placed back under my pillow and I slid open the door to my small closet. I've never needed many clothes, just effective ones. Ones that I can move and fight in. Something that I can feel comfortable in need there be an emergency that I'm needed for. My hands ended up settling on a pair of tight but moveable jeans with a faded green shirt that greatly clashed with my red hair. But I've never cared about colors going against my bright hair color, never have never will.

Nonetheless, I quickly pinned my long hair into a tight bun at the back of my head, save for my bangs which messily lay across my forehead with little pieces framing my face. A quick glance in the unsteady mirror that hung on my wall confirmed that I at least looked put together and not like a disheveled crazy person I sometimes appeared to be when I rushed. After that I slid on black socks and my favorite faded brown leather boots that went halfway up my calf.

With a quick look at my alarm clock confirming that I don't have to make my own breakfast this morning, I bolted out my door and down the thin and barely sturdy staircase. Once in the kitchen I was greeted by our, mostly mine, partly Siberian Husky that was appropriately named Cerber. Or Cerb for short. Cerber in Polish means guardian and you wouldn't know how many times this dog has saved both of our asses. Thank God I picked up the little mutt on our last casual trip to Russia.

"Hey Cerb," I crooned affectionately at the fully grown dog. Cerb met me in the doorway to the kitchen and jumped so his front paws were rested on my shoulders. With a lick aimed at my left cheek and a quick pat on his head on my part he jumped off me and back to his food bowl.

Barakov scoffed, "Sure, the mutt shows affection to you. But when I put down his food he growls," Under his breath I heard him add in Russian, "Damn dog."

A smirk slid onto my face as I plopped down in my usual seat. "_He_ knows where his loyalties lie. More than I can say for you half the time."

"You walk the same line as me, Chloe," He said as he placed a plate in front of me and sat down in the seat across the table.

I sent a small glare his way and dug into my portion of scrambled eggs. We ate in silence as we let our thoughts roam through our heads privately. Mine wandered to whatever the hell we would have to say during debriefing from our guard mission last night. My version was _got in a fight because of lame partner's choices, kicked some ass, saved Barakov's ass, politician alive, __success_. Probably not how Interpol will see it, but fuck them. If they don't like it we can just go rouge for a month until Interpol comes groveling back for us to help with some big important mission. Wouldn't be the first time. They will never admit it, but Interpol needs us. Mostly for more sketchy operations, but they need us none the less.

When my fork hit empty plate I finally realized I finished my food. Or Cerb stole some when I wasn't looking. Either way I was out of breakfast and it was time to go to headquarters. Well, it can loosely be called headquarters. Lately the main areas have been taken over by the junior program.

Yes, a junior program for an international agency. I was accepted when I was twelve, although currently sixteen. But if you saw a twelve year old girl, say, protecting one of the world's top officials, you would be stunned long enough for her to kick your ass when you tried to hurt the official. Basically the youths are used for element of surprise crap. And surprised are most people, I actually have a few pictures somewhere of reactions that I later pulled from security footage.

Don't go calling child services or anything. Usually these are the kids who have trained for most of their lives since they were taken in off the streets or something. At least that's the story for my best friend, Crock. Back in Russia he had tried to pickpocket Barakov. I had punched him in the face and the friendship bloomed from there.

We all have our stories in the JP. I barely know mine. What I know is what Barakov has told me, that's barely anything. Not even who my parents are, if Barakov even knows that. All I know is that he had found me on one of his missions when I was _maybe_ a year and a half old. I've been his "daughter" in the loosest of terms ever since. Loose terms being that he's taught me to fight and takes me on risky robberies. I can't blame him, a little kid makes for a good distraction when you have to hurry and grab the priciest artwork or precious jewel.

Next thing I know we're finishing the drive to headquarters in a less populated area of Kazakhstan. Apparently I zoned out through the short drive to base. Damn. Must've been all the scrapbook worthy moments. Full sarcasm intended.

After a quick badge flash and retina scan we're through the gates and up the too short to be suspicious driveway. Barakov parks our beat-up SUV in the usual space and we walk inside the small cover building on the level ground. Once inside a quick cliché pull of a book on a bookcase signals a secret elevator to lead us to the more covert area of this Interpol base. Which, I have warned, is currently being taken over by trained munchkins who don't like the words "no", "don't do that", and my personal favorite "get down from there you little bastards". I'm still laughing from when Agent Lawrence said that to some sugar-crazed ten year olds.

The elevator stopped for Barakov to get off and I continued my ride down to the area designated for the JP. I took a second to prepare myself for anything those little devils would try when I got off the elevator this time. It doesn't matter who you are, but when you step off, expect something to happen to you. This time the doors opened and a water balloon was flung right where my head was. After it exploding on the back wall, it was confirmed to be paint filled. Or the kids new favorite, hair dye. A perfect way to make an everlasting idiot of someone because it stains the skin and the hair. It really doesn't come off as easily as paint. Plus, it's harder to ground or punish children when they have a whole arsenal of weapons to train with at hand.

With a glare already starting I strolled out of the elevator and saw two kids standing there with a bucket of dye filled balloons. They cowered slightly and gave me a small wave each. By now they know not to mess with me.

"So, Parker," I addressed the thirteen year old boy, "Emily," the twelve year old girl, "What have I told you about throwing balloons straight into the elevator?"

Parker suddenly became very interested in his shoes, "To check who it is first."

"And?" I prompted.

"To check what they're holding," He admitted with a small sigh. A few times they haven't checked who or what was in the elevator and that's cost us a quite few treats for kids' birthdays.

"Good boy," I said with a pat on his head I strode off, but not before grabbing one dye filled balloon.

My devious mind began scheming up an idea to get Crock back for tying my steel toed boots to the highest tree in the surrounding forest last week. Haven't gotten him back yet, I'm surprised I haven't even thought of anything yet. I still have just enough time to balloon him then run to the elevator to go to debriefing. Perfect.

Just as I was about to sneak open the door to the older teen's lounge where Crock always was at this time, an alarm racked through the building. A blue light flashed against the colored walls signaling to get to the bunkers. Shit. The worst part was that we wouldn't know if this was a drill or not until it was over.

Nonetheless my hands dropped the balloon and I opened the door to the older teen's lounge and shouted at everyone to start rounding up kids. Thank God that most of the kids were smart enough to know what to do. Crock had followed me to go to the younger kid's quarters and grab them, considering that most of them were still sleeping at this time.

When we both had our arms full with kids we ran at full speed to the bunker that was almost on the other side of our floor. Why the hell are these drills always a pain in the ass? Crock reached the bunker door first and plopped down the kids who were now awake. Parker was already taking attendance of the kids as they ran through the door. As I set down my share of munchkins he threw me a thumbs up that everyone was accounted for.

"Everyone," I yelled over the noise for them to quiet down, "Get as far to the back wall as you can and do not crush or trample! Stay quiet and stay back!"

Everyone thankfully followed my orders and silently shuffled towards the back of the bunker which could easily hold all of us. Consider there were only twenty-eight kids in the JP total and this bunker was easily meant to hold three times the amount of full grown adults.

I punched in the intricate code to lock down the bunker and had to do another retina scan along with a finger print scan in the process. The bunker could only be controlled from the inside and we would receive the all clear through a small communicating device that was in all the bunkers and main operating room. Only one person could operate the all clear and we were trained to recognize the voice to make sure no one was messing with us just to get us out in the open. We were a secure facility and we were going to stay that way, you know, hopefully.

The heavy door slid down and then another slid across to make about a foot and a half thick steel barrier between us and anything else. You gotta hand it to who ever thought up these security measures. They are fucking effective. After triple checking that everything was alright inside, i.e. food, water, places to sleep, I went back to sit with everyone.

A sleepy and teary eyed seven year old girl named Sarah came over to where Crock and I sat towards the front. With a few sniffles she asked, "Can I sit over here?"

Sometime over the year that I've known this little girl I have somehow taken a liking to her. I'm not sure when and I'm not sure why, but I somehow started treating her like a little sister. Most of the older kids have too. Hell, she's one of the youngest of the bunch and we always look out for our own. _Always_.

I hoisted her onto my lap and she sniffled and sobbed into my shoulder as I gently patted her back. Crock was giving me a weird look that seemed to say _I didn't know you could actually be nice_.

Of course I acted maturely and stuck my tongue out at him.

Sarah ended up falling asleep on me, so Crock and I could talk normally without having to be reprimanded that the younger kids were using foul language that they _somehow _heard from us. I have no idea where the higher ups get that kind of shit from.

"Did you get news of a drill for today?" Crock asked me as he fiddled with his sleek black glasses.

"No," I responded solemnly. There was usually an announcement made to me, seeing as I somehow became the leader of the band of misfits that is the JP, in advance about when a drill would be so one of us could at least be ready. But no announcement meant no drill which means we're fucked and should be fighting.

"Then when do you think we're going to get out of here?" He asked just as solemn.

"I have not the slightest damn idea. Last time this happened was back in South Africa a few years ago. It was a full day of being in a hot metal bunker with only a handful of other kids and adults who didn't give a flying fuck about us," I recalled. It was when the JP was only starting to accept members so I was around twelve or thirteen with only a few other kids around my age or older. After that we relocated here and I punched Crock for the first time about a year later.

Crock gave a mirth filled chuckle, "These conditions must be wonderful compared to that. A bunch of little brats who put their weaponry and defensive knowledge to use against anyone over the age of eighteen."

"Shhh," I whispered coolly, "This little brat might hear you." I pointed to Sarah who was still resting on my shoulder.

"That little brat wouldn't hurt me," Crock declared with full confidence.

I rolled my eyes, "Bitch_ please_, anybody here would hurt you in a heartbeat."

Crock put on a face of mock hurt, "Would you hurt the pretty face of your _best_ friend?" He proceeded to look as cute as he could, which is kinda hard with neon green hair (of his own choice, not another helpless balloon victim), snake bite piercings and an eyebrow piercing.

"You call that thing pretty?" I gestured to his face as a smirk fell easily in place. "I'm not sure if it can even be called a face."

"Oh that's just cold, Clo," Crock glared at me as I started cracking up.

My giggle fit continued, "I'm sorry, _Clause_, but I can't hear you over your hair."

Crock turned bright red at his real name. He absolutely hates that name, and that is the only reason I get away with calling him Crock. In the first month that he had been training with the JP he took a visit back to Australia, where he's originally from. And long story short, he got in a fight with a crocodile over some food. That's how the nickname Crock was born.

"Oh, look, Christmas colors on Santa _Clause_," I only managed to get that out between laughs. But it sent me into another loud fit of laughter that woke Sarah up and sent a bunch of wary glances in our direction.

Sarah lifted her head off my shoulder and sent a small glare complete with a pout in my direction. I have to say, that didn't help cure my laughter. It was too cute to _not_ laugh at!

I let my laughter trail off after a full minute. My eyes were watering from that laugh fest and I wiped them as a few breathless chuckles escaped me. After I calmed down I sauntered off to an abandoned area of the bunker to catch up on sleep with the firm order to Crock to not disturb me. Of course, just as I was finally slipping into unconsciousness after maybe an hour of tossing and turning and numerous hair adjustments to keep my head comfy a shrill alarm went off through the bunker.

The shrill sound kept going as kids covered their ears. I carefully took count. The alarm finally stopped as I reached a final tally of twelve. That's the sign to get ready for a message. My legs instinctively sprinted to the control panel and waited for good old Amir, our techie and former JP member, to appear on screen and give me the all clear.

Sure enough after a few moments Amir's rugged face showed up on screen. "Hey Chloe," He said hesitantly.

"Amir, cut the crap. Are we all clear or not?" I almost shouted at the screen. I knew he could see and hear me as well as the other way around.

"Yeah, code: BX6I89W43." My mind ticked off all numbers and letters for the code that changes weekly, whether or not we have to use the bunker that week.

"Got it Amir," The code to release us from our metal box was typed in within seconds and the doors started opening.

"Chloe!" Amir shouted at me when I started leaving, the other kids could figure out we're aloud out by now.

I stepped back in range of the camera and waited for him to hurry up and spout off whatever else was necessary.

"You might want to go to the briefing room on sub-floor six," Amir looked pretty rattled.

He has good right to, though. The sub-floor six briefing room was only used in emergencies and for some heavy planning. That was basic knowledge around here. I nodded in a bit of a haze and took off to the elevator. But not before glancing back and seeing Crock looking at me with sad eyes, almost torn between running after me or not. Did he hear about the briefing room? Never mind, I'll find that out later.

Just as I skidded to a stop and pressed the elevator button Crock ran up beside me, he stopped with a little more grace though. He sent me a reassuring smile as the elevator finally opened. We got inside and I slammed the six button.

It was a strenuously long ride from the JP's sub-floor, fourteen, to six. My thoughts wandered to all the horrible possibilities of me being called up. The kids did something, I did something, or its time for another mission. Although I probably wouldn't be called up to the most secure briefing room for any normal mission. Wait, does that mean I finally get to do something above a preschooler's level? Oh please, I've been way too bored with just the standard guarding missions lately.

The shiny metal doors finally slid open and Crock and I were off sprinting again. Crock's longer legs gave him a slight advantage over me, but I have the natural speed to keep up with his stupid mile long legs. We reached the door at the same time and nearly crashed into each other when we tried stopping.

Either way we both gave retina and fingerprint scans and were admitted into the room. Now to see who fucked up this time.

**A/N: I was sick of writing Young Justice fics for a little bit and my friend gave me an amazing plot bunny. Read _and_ review, please. Reviews are like candy, mainly because crack is bad, but I think you get it.**


	2. Taken

**Disclaimer: I don't own G.I. Joe or any other recognizable aspects. If I did then I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.**

Standing in the front, or nearest the door I guess, was the head of the JP division Agent Les Lawrence. Beside him was a very pissed looking mission coordinator, Westley Incard. Not the most pleasant of guys, Westley. Sure he had a good head on his shoulders, but he had this mightier-than-thou attitude that pisses me off to no end.

On the other end of the conference room were a group of people who looked ready to kick ass, with the exception of a tanned Moroccan looking fellow in the front. He looked a little on the scrawny side.

But _behind_ him, _holy shit_.

There was a guy in a full black body suit and what looked like modified lenses over his eyes, but when I say full body suit, I mean full. Not a bit of skin peeking out. Hell, not a bit of anything it was all just _black_. Not to mention the sword handle peaking out behind his back. He looked like a fucking old school ninja, kinda. Don't tell anyone I said that.

Next to the ninja guy was a woman with bright red hair that looked to be the same shade as mine. Her pale skin was a huge contrast to all the black in their little group. She was pretty and looked calm considering all the tension floating through the room. For some reason I felt like I knew her, but that could be anything, I come across a lot of people in this business.

Beside Red-Head was a black guy who looked a little less than competent. But hey, people can be surprising.

After Less-Than-Competent was a guy with a severe buzz cut and a few noticeable scars lining his tan face. He looked particularly solemn, on the verge of pissed. I'm almost hoping that he pissed Incard off. That would be a fun fight to see.

Finally, there was a big hulking black guy that looked like he appeared in quite a few nightmares before. I mean, _holy __**fucking**__ shit_, the guy was huge and he was carrying a gun on his back that looked almost the size of Scrawny-Guy. What the hell! There are fucking kids in this place! Sure they might gawk at it for a while and ask to try it out, but still!

Lawrence looked a little surprised at Crock and I's sudden appearance, but also a little grateful. Perhaps there was some yelling going on earlier? With sound proof walls, nobody would be able to tell. Seriously, this room can muffle a gunshot and more. And with Muscles over there it might just be necessary. I could already feel my hand twitching back for my gun that I kept tucked into the back of my jeans. Easily hidden by my shirt of course.

"Ah, Chloe we have something we have to tell you," Lawrence started off.

I forced my expression to be blank, except for my famous smirk. "Is this some kind of intervention? Or are you here to tell me about the kids' latest bathroom prank, because I swear I had nothing to do with that this time."

Less-Than-Competent gave a small snicker but the others looked a little appalled. Especially Red-Head, and she promptly smacked him on the arm. But Mr. Ninja looked pretty emotionless, surprise surprise.

"But before we tell you," Lawrence continued as if I never spoke, "We have to ask you to disarm."

I mumbled under my breath, "I hate this procedure." All the while I pulled my Browning out of my jean's waistband and dumped it on the table. The little charm I attached to the hammer years ago jingled against the table. But the origin and reason for it being on my gun is another story for another time. Crock was beside me pulling out weapons from his waistband also. He kept less weapons on him than me, but he wasn't raised by a crazed weapon loving Russian.

"And?" Lawrence prompted.

My hands instinctively reached into my left boot and pulled out a five inch collapsible knife. Which I added to the table.

"Seriously Chloe, all weapons."

"Fine," I said a little on the loud side and began pulling more weapons from my boots, which included more knives, both throwing and collapsible. Also I lifted my shirt a little and released the Velcro strap that kept an array of weapons above my tank top and under my top shirt. Then I proceeded to grab smaller throwing knives out of my front jean pockets and dumped them on the small pile accumulating. "There, that's all I got," I proclaimed and backed away from the table.

"Are you sure?" Lawrence played this game with me in every meeting.

"Yeah, unless you want me to go grab my katanas out of my room," I put my hands on my hips and waited for Lawrence to get on with it. In all truth, I wouldn't mind going to my room and grabbing my precious twin katanas, it would probably scare the crap out of these people. Maybe not ninja guy since he had one on his back, but still, a girl can hope.

"That won't be necessary," Lawrence assured. "But you may want to sit down."

"I'd rather stand," Ice was leaking into my voice. "Now get the hell on with it."

"Yes, well the reason for the alarm earlier was, well, Barakov was kidnapped," Lawrence rushed through the last of the sentence.

My hands dropped from my hips, "Is this some kind of joke? Who would be stupid enough to do that?" I barely felt Crock put his hand on my shoulder, but I shook him off none the less.

The scrawny guy from the other group took a turn to speak, "I'm afraid this isn't a joke. And to clarify it is who was smart enough to. He holds knowledge on the most dangerous children in the world. Particularly, you."

I glared at the guy, "So you're saying they want me and the rest of the JP?"

"That's correct," The Red-Head said as she stepped towards me.

"You've got to be shitting me," I couldn't help but say while I took a step away from her. "If they wanted me than why not just kidnap me? I have more information on the JP than Barakov and you said they want information, whoever the hell _they_ are."

"Who would you rather get information from? A middle aged man or a snarky teenager?" Okay, Red-Head is starting to piss me off.

I scoffed, "Well than they choose the wrong middle aged man. He would never tell them what he had for breakfast."

Scrawny took another try, "They have a way of making people talk."

"I'm getting sick of this load of discreet shit you're feeding me. So let's get on with it. Who are you, why you are here, and who took Barakov."

"We can't tell you that," Muscles spoke up from the back.

"Then who can?" I looked at Lawrence and Incard who were staring at the verbal match going on before them.

"That's what we were trying to find out before you busted in here," Incard spit out at me.

"Well it's not like my entrance ruined any progress you've made so far. I bet I'm a step closer to figuring this out than you," I practically hissed back at him with just enough venom.

"Really?" Incard prodded. "Then why don't you take a shot at it, albeit one in the dark."

Once again I ignored Crock's attempt to calm me down. Hell, he hated him just as much as me, maybe more. But starting a brawl in front of strangers is still something not even I would pull. Well at least not these strangers.

"Hmm," I started out and tapped my index finger to my chin for good measure. "Well seeing as how Barakov got kidnapped and within the day and these people who look like they will gladly go out and kick ass show up. My theory is that they want to find Barakov."

"Correct," Red-Head said from across the room with a tinge of proudness in her voice. Why the hell does she sound proud?

I strongly considered going up to Incard and yelling "In your face!". But that probably wouldn't work out to well for me. Besides Incard's jaw was almost hitting the floor anyways.

With arms crossed I turned to Incard, "Have any other comments to make? Because your one on my aim fell a little short."

Behind me I heard Crock stifle a laugh and to my side I heard a few chuckles from the mystery group. At least these people can take a joke. With a glance to the side I saw Less-Than-Competent and Buzz-Cut covering their mouths with their hands while they stifled their laughs. Muscles was smirking a little. Red-Head had a small smile ghosting on her features. Scrawny looked slightly amused. And Mr. Ninja? Well I don't know if he was amused or not, it's kinda hard to tell.

Incard was sputtering to try to get a response in. But all it came out was incoherent little words and the vein in his forehead looking really big and ready to burst.

Lawrence took that moment to come to the rescue, "Excuse us," He said as he dragged Incard through the door.

That left Crock and I in a stare down with the mystery group. While my confidence was on a small high I decided to say what I've needed to say since that theory formulated in my head. "Alright, I don't care who you are. But if you're actually here to help Barakov then I want in."

"You're only a teenager," Red-Head pointed out.

"One of the most lethal teenagers on the planet," I said right back.

"Lethal or not, we can't let a teenager go out in harm's way."

I took a step closer to Red-Head for some reason, "Listen, Red, I'm trying to level with you here. I have access to information you don't. You have access to information I don't. If we work together than we have a better chance of finding Barakov."

"What information could you have that we don't?"

"This is where the connections to playing on both sides comes in handy."

"Both sides?" Less-Than-Competent interrupted.

With a roll of my eyes I went back to the front of the room where a TV was situated for presentations. It doubles as a computer and I quickly pulled up my file. Sure, it took a little hacking through the system considering that only the higher ups are supposed to access it. But I have Amir on my side who taught me how to hack in the early days and still gives me lessons sometimes to keep up to date.

While the mystery group patiently waited I situated my file to pull up on the holographic projector in the middle of the table.

It clearly showed a holographic version of me decked out in my usual Interpol gear. But under aliases it showed both Phantom (Interpol alias) and Black Cat (criminal alias), in those exact words.

"As you can see," I said like a student presenting in front of the class, "I'm not just on the hero side of business. Technically I am a criminal, but with Interpol I am not arrested because my skills come to use on both sides of the metaphorical line."

"So since you're a criminal you think you can pull some strings and find out where Barakov is?" Red-Head still tried to go against me.

"Not easily. But that's where you guys come in. We exchange information, you guys get a successful mission and I get my guardian back."

"Sorry, Kid," Muscles said from the back. His voice was laced with a British accent, I noted. "But we can't let a teenager go out into the line of fire, information or not. Not to mention one in such high demand."

My temper has been steadily rising and I'm about to snap. "Alright _fine_," I sneered and gave them the worst glare I could with my cold blue-grey eyes, "If you won't let me help then I'll go out on my own. If they want me, they can have me. At least then Barakov will be out of the equation and safe."

I took that as my cue and grabbed my Browning and stormed out of the room. The rest of my weapons can stay here until I pick them up. Crock was right on my tail, _after _he apologized to the mystery group. We passed a very surprised looking Lawrence and Incard. They must've been surprised that I was practically fuming, considering how they must've thought I had a better chance than them. Apparently not.

**A/N: Second chapter complete! I'm working at a good pace with this so far and am hoping to keep it that way. I don't know what it is about this story but I just can't stop writing it. Anyways, read **_**and**_** review please! And before I forget, there's a surprise next chapter, so just wait for it.**


	3. Clarity

**Disclaimer: You really are still asking about this, huh? Well to confirm your suspicions, no I don't own G.I. Joe or any other recognizable references. What a shock!**

My feet unconsciously took me to the elevator and after that my room, where I spotted my katanas and decided to blow off steam by training. It'll at least get my mind off of this grim situation. So with that I quickly changed into a sports bra and tank top with some old battered sweat pants that I rolled up to just below my knees. I grabbed my sneakers and slid them on. Also, I retightened my bun after it came loose during the emergency session. After I determined that I wasn't forgetting anything I grabbed the straps on my katanas' sheathes and made sure my Browning was secure in my waistband along with a box of extra bullets in my pocket in case of target practice.

The walk to the training room, which was veritably on the other side of our floor beside the bunker, allowed me to clear my head a little. Along the way I noticed small footsteps following me. _It must be the other kids, they have to train sometime, _is what my subconscious told me.

To confirm I took a peak behind me, and sure enough, there was little Sarah with her collapsible bo staff, and the only boy her age trailing next to her with a container of throwing stars. His name slipped by me for now, but I am not their full time babysitter so why should I know? Not to mention he's new, maybe only a month at most? Okay, maybe I should still know his name, but I'll just ask Crock later.

Anyways we reached the training room and I held the glass door open to the kiddos. One entire wall is glass so the adults can observe our progress behind another sound proof barrier. Not to mention the stupid mirror feature put on during trials. But we learned to hack that almost as soon as we moved in. Its times like these that I'm seriously considering that they think we're just brainless soldiers. So once again, _they are idiots_.

Nevertheless, it's no time to dwell on that now. Sarah and the boy happily stepped through and nodded to me. When I followed in after them I noticed the mirror feature as it turned on. But really I don't care right now. People can observe me all they want; all I'm doing is regular training. Although I strongly considered flipping the mirror off just for the slight entertainment value.

I carefully placed all my weapons on a bench near the wall and the two kids followed suit. We all went through the standard stretches together, although mine were a little more difficult. After the time taken to warm-up our muscles I was itching to shoot or slice something.

"Hey, Chloe?" Sarah asked in a small voice.

"Um, yeah Sarah?" A serious case of what-the-hell was running through my mind. When it comes time to train this girl isn't shy at all.

"How about a little sparring?" She asked, a bit more confident.

"That would be unfair Sarah. I'm twice your age and experience," Most other people would've taken that as a condescending comment. It seemed to egg her on.

She scoffed, "I didn't mean _alone_."

My arms crossed as I sized up what she was getting at. "So you want me to spar the both of you? Is this some kind of team-up-and-take-me-down plan?"

"Let's just call it… _practice_."

A smirk fell right in place with my decision. "You know what? You got a deal Short Stack. But how about we make it a little more interesting, hmm?" With a swift nod from both kids I continued, "You win and I'll go pick up those desserts you like from the bakery in town. I win and you help me get Crock back for the boot incident last week."

They exchanged a quick glance and the boy looked at me with a wicked smile, "We're in."

"Rules are this. No weapons, only hand to hand. Besides that there really are no rules."

With that they slid into fighting positions with their fists raised in front of them. I took my time to get in position and I used that time to sum up their weaknesses. The boy's stance was off by an inch, a quick swipe behind the ankle should send him to the ground if he can't correct himself in time. But Sarah didn't have much of an opening. She kept most of her known weak spots guarded, key word being _most_. A small portion of her stomach on her left side was exposed and she is _extremely_ ticklish.

Before the kids could react I ducked down and swung my foot out and caught the boy's ankle in the crook of my foot. I pulled up as I sent a quick jab in Sarah's stomach and she inverted on herself. As the boy fell on his back (with a girlish yelp I might add) I linked my other foot around the back of Sarah's knees and caused her to fall forward. Victory.

The boy got up with a groan and rubbed his lower back which had taken the brunt of the impact. I've known that feeling. Somebody really needs to bump up the matting on the floors. Well, actually, maybe not, it'll teach the kids to take a hit.

For some reason Sarah had a grin on her face. I would say that she took getting beat well but that was almost never the case. Add another case of what-the-hell to today's roster. Sarah continued to smile as she stood back up. You know, I actually don't care what she's thinking. It's probably some horse shit about unicorns and rainbows.

"Short Stack," Sarah's grin fell a little. "You need to keep your arms closer to your body. Alright?"

She nodded as she realized I was only giving fight advice. I signaled for her to fall back into stance and she complied. With a quick correction to her arms her sides were effectively guarded and one of her most vulnerable spots was safe.

"You," I gestured to the boy. I could barely remember his name. Billy? Bobby? Something like a lame sitcom name for a son. "Fix your stance, it was too wide. You stay wide and you stay unbalanced, got it?"

He slid back into stance and I nudged his front foot back a little more. Better, but if he doesn't keep corrected whoever he's fighting is going to have him for breakfast.

"Alright, remember that when you guys train tomorrow." They nodded. "Now, I'm going to go shoot, do you want me to set you up for the throwing stars?"

With a more enthusiastic nod from each brat I opened the box and grabbed half the stars, leaving about twenty left over. I divvied up the stars so they each had ten and pulled them so they were both five feet away from their own targets.

"The goal is to hit a bull's-eye. You do that you take a step back. All you need to focus on is aim so don't worry about how long it takes you to get the shot. Just breathe and throw at your own pace," I mentally smacked myself because I was starting to sound like an actual teacher.

Nonetheless the brats got to it as I grabbed my gun and extra bullets off the bench. My katanas should be safe enough just sitting there because everybody knows not to mess with them_. Everybody_. Let's just say it didn't end well for the last moron who decided to touch them.

I fell into my shooting routine by setting up a target at the very end of the range and put on the noise muffling earmuffs. A quick flick of my finger turned off the safety and I pulled the hammer back. With a loud blast that I only half heard my bullet ripped through the paper target. I continued like that for a while and ended up emptying a full clip. Pressing the button next to me brought up the paper target so I could see it better. And sure enough, just as I had aimed it, there were bullet holes that formed a smiley face across the head. I internally scoffed, _nobody's going to make fun of my aim again_.

The earmuffs were taken off and I pulled my target down to put it with the rest of 'em in my room. For some reason I like keeping the ones I make a cool pattern in. Right as I finished with that a shrill muffled voice reached my ears, "You don't want to do that."

Sarah must be yelling pretty loud for me to hear that in here. So with gun in hand, extra bullets in my pocket, and target folded under my arm, I went to see what the commotion was about.

The sight that awaited me really sucked. What I was expecting was some kind of prank from the kids. But no, what I saw with my own eyes was Less-Than-Competent messing with my katanas. He had one out of the sheathe and was staring at it.

"You better put that down if you know what's good for you," I warned as I pulled the hammer of my gun back. He didn't know that the clip and chamber were empty, not to mention the safety was on. But if he's messing with my swords than he can think whatever he wants to as long as it scares him shitless.

"Now kid, you don't wanna do anything hasty."

"And apparently you don't wanna put down my katana."

He slowly put it back down on the bench next to it's sheathe. "I don't want any trouble now."

"Then you shouldn't have messed with my katana. _Now_ get your ass out of my training room before trouble starts!"

Needless to say he pretty much ran out of the room. Sarah and the boy were staring at me with wide eyes and open mouths. They know not to mess with my swords, but they've never seen the punishment for it.

"Oh close your mouths. The gun's on safety and it's not even loaded," I assured them as I carefully slid the katana back into it's sheathe and my Browning back into my waistband.

They snickered, now realizing that I never meant any harm. "He almost peed his pants," The boy pointed out with another laugh.

"And that is why you don't mess with my swords."

I was gathering up my stuff and getting ready to leave when I noticed a shadow casting just behind my foot. With a quick turn on my heel I stood face to, um, mask with Mr. Ninja.

My eyes instantly narrowed into a solid glare, "When did you get in the room?"

No answer.

"Fine, don't talk then. But I'm guessing you saw the katana ordeal about a minute ago?"

A single nod.

"Well you're going to have a tough time lecturing me if you don't talk."

No answer.

"Alright then, the ninja stare down is getting old." I contemplated my options. "How about we make a deal? We spar and if you win then I have to go apologize."

He nodded and made a small gesture towards me.

"If I win then I get bragging rights. I'm not going to blackmail my way into your group. If I'm _ever _getting that spot then I would rather earn it."

Mr. Ninja didn't nod or shake his head in response. Instead he went over to the training mat and stood waiting for me. He also made a gesture to the rack where the body padding was for when sparring gets rough.

I couldn't help but scoff. "I don't do padding. If I take a hit then so be it."

He nodded and slid into a fighting position.

With a wary glance at the sword handles peaking up over his back I followed to the mat. "No weapons right?"

With another nod he flicked his front figures in a bring-it-on gesture. Oh this poor ignorant fool won't know what hit him.

My feet slid into measured position and my arms went up to keep my sides blocked while my hands were in raised fists that were level with my chin.

We seemed to be in a stare down for a while and the kiddies behind us were holding their breath.

His weight is mainly on his back foot so no tripping him. He has body armor galore on, so straight hitting isn't going to have as much of an effect. But there were small spots in between his armor where it was only fabric. That was my best bet for now.

I struck out first with a kick aimed at his front knee. But he stepped back and my landing made my balance drop. Mr. Ninja used that to his advantage and swung his foot around my unbalanced leg just like I did with the boy earlier. Fucking irony. Either way it made me fall into the splits. In that moment I was eternally grateful for all the flexibility training because that would've made most others scream for their mother.

With a quick movement I swung my back leg around and towards Mr. Ninja. I didn't care if that hit landed, but him backing away again gave me time to get back on my feet. When on my feet I slid back into position and waited for him to make a move.

It took quite a while for him to do anything, he just stood there, like a statue almost. But waiting paid off because he finally struck a solid punch towards my right shoulder. I matrix-ed it and bended back to dodge. That didn't work to well because while I was still bending back he slid one of my feet out of position. It forced me to do a full back bend to regain my balance. As I flipped back up, though, my Browning fell out of my waistband and to the mat.

Time seemed to slow down as the charm on the hammer bounced slightly on the mat. Mr. Ninja seemed to notice the charm and stopped fighting all together. How many times do I have to think what-the-hell today?

I slowly reached down to grab my gun while he kept staring. An opportunity resounded in my head and just as I was about to grab the gun I reached out for Mr. Ninja's ankle instead. With a hard tug he fell to the floor. A small oomph noise escaped him. Only sound I've heard so far.

While I was still crouched down I stuck my gun back in my waistband. When I stood up I offered a hand to Mr. Ninja. "Tie?" I conceded.

He grabbed my hand and I helped him up. It was then that I noticed red stripes on his upper arm. Four broken stripes and four full stripes. I regarded it curiously and he noticed my stare. He pointed at the stripes to confirm suspicions. I nodded and grabbed my katanas. With a quick slide I unsheathed one and showed him the same symbol on the metal of the sword. The kids took that moment to leave.

"These were a gift when I was younger, I don't know when exactly but I can remember who gave it to me. Not an actual name, some call sign. Storm Shadow, do you recognize it?" I was basically talking to my sword because I couldn't look at Mr. Ninja for some reason.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and brought my eyes up to meet Mr. Ninja's mask. "So you do?"

He gave a tight nod.

"What happened to him? I haven't seen him for about five years."

Mr. Ninja seemed to be holding something back.

"Let me guess, more secrets?"

He must've been arguing with himself in his mind because he kept looking at the door and then at me, but never moving besides that. After what seemed like a long while he adjusted his hand on my shoulder to grabbing my arm. I didn't get a chance to ask why because he started dragging me off.

"What the hell?! Let go of me!" I screamed at him as he pulled me towards the door. The possibility of cutting him to make him let go of me disappeared as he grabbed my sword from me. What the flying fuck?

My screams fell on deaf ears as he continued to haul me towards the door. We finally reached it, much to my disgruntlement. In the moment it took him to open the door I seized my opportunity. I dropped to the ground as far as his hold would let me and swung under his legs. He fell and I ran like hell. Except there was one major problem with that. The fact that Red stuck her arm out just after the doorway is the major player there.

My back hit the tile floor with a solid thunk. "_Fuck_," I muttered as air finally complied to go back in my lung. Near my lower back there seemed to be something I was laying on. As I reached under my back my hands caught on the grip of my Browning. I cast it to the side without a second thought and focused on breathing again. From my position on the ground my eyes rested on Red, "Was that _really _necessary?"

Red never gave me an answer. She was staring at my gun, more accurately, the charm on the hammer. Why are they so interested in it?

That was the moment it clicked in my head. Red hair, check. Ninja-ness, check. Charm on my gun that was the only trace Barakov could find of my parentals, check.

I covered my face with my hands, "Oh Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus," I exclaimed just a little too loud. But I have an excuse; as far as I know I'm related to a mute ninja and an annoying red head. Well fuck my luck. "You know, Red, we really, _really_ need to talk," I pointedly directed towards her. I'm not sure if she even heard me or not, though.

**A/N: Well… surprise? Two surprises actually, both will be explained more either next chapter or the one after that. There's the Storm Shadow one, and the painfully obvious parental one. I've been getting about two reviews per chapter, let's at least get three with this one, hmm? I won't hold a chapter back if there's not at least three reviews, but I write faster when there's more reviews, just saying.**


	4. Aggression

Less-Than-Competent took that moment to show up with Buzz-Cut. I'm not exactly sure what they inferred from the scene before them, but I know what they saw. One Ninja just picking himself up from the ground, one snarky teenager lying on the ground with her hands over her face muttering obscenities, and one red head taking particular interest in my weapon.

"Do I even want to know?" Less-Than-Competent addressed us all.

I momentarily stopped my obscenity trail, "I downed him, she downed me, and I _really_ don't want to talk about the rest."

"Wait,_ you_ downed him?" Buzz-Cut interjected, not even hiding his disbelief.

"In my defense, your resident ninja tried dragging me off. My liberation was short lived to say the least," I managed to sit up against my back's protests. "And that's gonna leave a bruise," I muttered under my breath.

Buzz-Cut offered his hand to me, "Come on, you don't want to be sitting on the floor, it's probably dirty."

"Are you kidding me? The JP has the cleanest floors in the building," I amended as he helped me up. "Once a week we suds up the tiles, attach scrubbing brushes to our feet, and start skating. Twice a week when someone pulls a messy prank."

"Does everybody really pull that many pranks around here?" Buzz-Cut asked tentatively.

"Anybody in their teens and below, yeah," I took a moment to regard how the mystery group members around me seemed clean and not riled up from evil children at all. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why the kids haven't waged World War III on you guys yet. They don't like strangers to say the least."

"Why don't they like strangers?" Less-Than-Competent inquired with a not-so-understanding look on his face.

"_Strangers _tend to mess with our stuff," I pointed out with a small glare. I felt a hand placed on my shoulder and my gut told me it was Mr. Ninja. With a sigh I added, "And I'm sorry about earlier, I overreacted."

Less-Than-Competent looked at Ninja quizzically and out of the corner of my eye I saw him shrug. Ninja's humble, I'll give him that. Out my other eye I saw Red finally getting up, holding my gun I might add, but she just stood there watching us.

Either way Less-Than-Competent shook it off and slung a black bag off his shoulder, "Here," He said as he handed it to me. "Is it alright that I touched these?"

I glanced inside and saw all the weapons I left in the briefing room upstairs. Thought I was gonna have to go get those myself. "Shipping right to person, and no delivery charge. Thanks FedEx."

"FedEx?" He asked with a face. Can he ask anything with a normal expression?

"Better than the last nickname from me," I remarked as I sorted through the bag to make sure everything was there. A full inventory would have to be done later.

"Which was?"

"Less-Than-Competent," Before he could screech and protest I continued, "You don't exactly give off that _got-my-crap-together_ vibe. And I don't know your names or call signs so I had to come up with my own."

Buzz-Cut was trying to contain his laughter as FedEx (it probably wouldn't be a smart idea to call him Less-Than-Competent anymore) looked at me like I was crazy. Mr. Ninja tapped me on the shoulder again.

"Oh come on, he walked into that one and you know it," I didn't turn around to talk to him. That was probably my mistake, but the ninja glare sucks.

Mr. Ninja grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face him. And sure enough, the ninja glare was ready. It felt even worse when the theory that he was my father kept banging around in my head.

"Fine, just stop looking at me in that tone of voice!" I almost yelled. That fucking ninja glare is worse than any interrogation technique I've ever endured. With a swivel on my heel I was back to facing FedEx. "I'm sorry, that was, um, rude. I'm sure you're very competent in your own ways."

"Apology accepted," FedEx said warily. Must not be every day that he sees Mr. Ninja act this way.

"Yeah, now if you'll excuse us," I grabbed Ninja by the wrist and followed suit with Red, "We need to go talk." With a smile that could easily be deemed as fake I took off down the hallway with my "parents" in tow.

They seemed to take the towing pretty well, hell they made it all the way to the elevator before pulling their wrists back. I slammed the down button repeatedly and just about thanked whatever god there is when the doors opened and there was no one in it. With a quick yank they got in and I hit the basement button. It was the only floor without cameras, and the only floor beneath the JP so most aren't brave enough to go down here since it's _so_ close to every little devil in this place. Perfect for secret conversations seeing as how you have to leave your record of entry in the database whenever you want a sound proof room.

The drag-fest continued until I stopped behind an old armoire that somebody must've put down here years ago. I've used it as a place for my own thoughts before so I know it's hard to find. Once again, perfect.

I whirled on them as soon as I came to a stop, "Now tell me the truth, are you or aren't you my parents?"

It took a few moments for Red to collect herself, "I honestly didn't think you would figure it out so soon."

Ninja shot her a look that even I could interpret as _Really?_

"That's a yes. Now I have some questions. Why the hell didn't you tell me when you got here? Hell, why didn't you tell me ever? I've been on this earth for roughly sixteen years and not a peep, not a card on my birthday, nothing. And you know what the sad part is? I don't even know when my own damn birthday is! The day I celebrate my birthday is the date that Barakov found me. I don't even know if Chloe is my real name because you two left no trace to ask questions to, no letter explaining everything in my basinet, once again nothing! Now I want you to explain, and tell me everything because I have had enough bullshit today." I felt my eyes start watering but I refused to let the tears spill. This was not the time to cry.

"I…" Red stood there awkwardly trying to come up with words. "I thought you would live a better life without us. When Barakov found you we thought you would be safe… so we left you with him."

My mouth hung open, "Sorry, Red, that's not cutting it. And if you seriously thought Barakov, I mean fucking Barakov of all people was the person to leave your child with then you must've taken a few too many hits in the field. The man woke me up this morning by throwing a pillow at my face for God's sakes!"

"He's kept you safe, that's the point I'm trying to make here. And your birth name is Alexandria, Alex for short."

That shut me up for a second. Ninja took that moment to show her the symbol on my katana that he managed to hang on to.

"You must not have been keeping tabs very well because Mr. Ninja over here doesn't like one of my teachers very much," I spat at them both, having recovered from the slight shock.

"Who?" Red asked Ninja.

I almost laughed because she seemed to expect him to suddenly start talking. "Storm Shadow, another topic of question for you two to answer."

Red stared at me with wide eyes. Her gaze shifted to Ninja who seemed to be looking at me.

"Alright enough shock. What's so bad about him for you to be reacting like that? And you still haven't answered my question about what happened to him," I said towards Ninja.

They both blatantly ignored me as Red whispered to Ninja. I could only pick up a few words like "hawk" and "explain". Nothing that I could make strong connections to. Either way they are defiantly going to explain.

After about a minute of whispering and Ninja throwing in his own opinion with a few gestures they finally turned back towards me. "We need you to come with us," Red stated calmly.

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"It's for your safety."

"I'm perfectly safe now," I defended.

"Not for long."

My eyes narrowed and I glared at her. "I'll be fine. Now may I have my weapons back?"

Red handed me my Browning back, probably only because it wasn't loaded. But the moment the grip hit my palm I detached the charm from the hammer. The charm, only a single bronze butterfly wing landed in Red's hand. She probably had the other wing to make the butterfly complete.

"Keep it," I said as more tears threatened to leak. "I don't want it anymore." The wing was the only thing I had of my parents. But if these are my parents then I'm not so sure it really means anything anymore.

Ninja stiffly handed me my katana and I walked away from them. They could find their way back to the elevator easily. But if people went searching for them they won't be found as easily.

With each step it felt like my sneakers were being weighted down with concrete. The elevator wasn't far but the basement was dark and my vision was blurring with tears. I had to rely mostly on memory to get back. When I did I lightly tapped the up button and leaned against the cold metal frame. The annoying ding of the elevator arriving jerked me out of my mindless state.

I slid into the elevator and pressed the button for the JP. Traitorous tears leaked down my cheeks as I leaned against the back corner. _This can't be happening_, I thought, _This is all a dream and Barakov actually let me sleep in_. Oh who am I kidding? That's complete bullshit and reality is a bitch with a loaded gun and a trigger finger.

The short ride ended and the doors opened with another ding. And standing right there were Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumbass from the mystery group. I wiped any stray tears away and pushed past them towards my room.

I got all of three feet before I was yanked back by the collar of my tank top. On instinct I dropped and slid out of my tank top. Thank God I was still wearing my sports bra and that they didn't grab that. Still crouched down I turned and saw Buzz-Cut holding my tank top.

"Come on, kid._ Red_ needs to talk to you," He said as he tossed my tank top back at me. My mind noted that he called her the nickname I assigned her instead of anything else. These guys are big on secrecy.

My Browning was back in my waistband so I could catch it with my free hand. "I've had enough of talking with her."

"We have to take you back to the briefing room, this can be done the easy way or the hard way," He warned.

"How about this Buzz-Cut," I offered as I raised my sword, "Because there's no way I'm going back there willingly."

FedEx slid into a fighting position besides Buzz-Cut, "Hard way it is then."

A smirk slid right in place, "For you maybe."

Surprising them, I dropped my sword and bag of sharp goodies, pulled the Browning out of my waistband, put it next to my sword, and jumped over their heads. My hands landed on Buzz-Cut's shoulders and as soon as I got a good grip I finished the flip and sent him flying over me. Using your opponent's weight against them with your own momentum, somewhere around rule three I think. He landed a few feet away with a solid sound that seemed very painful. Maybe that will teach him not to try again. While I waited to see if he would get up FedEx grabbed me from behind, effectively making my arms useless. In my head I cussed myself out for forgetting about him.

He started turning around towards the elevator. Oh hell no. My feet linked around the crooks of his ankles and I pulled, hard. Thankfully he fell backwards and when his back hit the ground his hold on me was released.

I rolled off of FedEx and kneeled next to him, "Yeah, _competent_ is the word for you." I patted his chest plate and ran towards my weapons. Buzz-Cut was getting up and it was time to make my exit.

Just as my hands tightened around the grips of my weapons and my tank top the elevator dinged open. Its official, my luck isn't just fucked, it's nonexistent. Muscles was standing there in the doorway and I bolted down towards my room.

Right as the corner was there waiting and ready for me to turn I heard him boom out, "Alex, wait!"

That skidded me to a stop faster than an electric shock. It ended with me not being able to stop in time and slamming into the _concrete_ wall with my left side. There's another bruise (or multiple bruises) I'll be finding later.

As I caught my breath that escaped with the slam I yelled back at him, "What the flying fuck did you just call me?" I silently prayed that it was some sort of a mix-up with names. Maybe I looked like someone he knows. But what were the chances of that with my luck? Oh yeah, fucking zero.

He was still twenty feet to me and he was walking. But it will be hard to run away from Muscles with the hit from an inanimate object I just took. I tried turning to resting my back against the wall I hit and am leaning against. It resulted it me almost yelling out but I stayed silent, but couldn't help the pained expression on my face. _That's it, no more running into walls for me_. _Especially at full speed_.

Muscles was still approaching as I tried to stand up. Standing up ended up in me having to lean against the wall, coincidently on my bad side. That sent me back to my knees with another pained expression.

"Сын сука," I muttered under my shaky breath.

Muscles was next to me by that point and helping me up, "What's that mean?"

"It's Russian for 'son of a bitch'," I spoke clearly, sucking up the pain. Barakov's words resounded through my head, _"It can only make you stronger."_ Damn Russian training.

For some reason I didn't really mind that Muscles was helping me up. But if anyone else would, say, Buzz-Cut or FedEx, then they could expect another ass kicking. Then again, Muscles does know who I am, _really am_, apparently.

He seemed to disregard my language use, "You okay Lil' Red? That was a nasty hit."

"And don't I know it. I'll be fine though, thankfully all the sharp things were on my right side." I rotated my arm. No shoulder dislocation or anything broken. Just gonna be sore for maybe a week. Maybe more considering I was at full speed. "Lil' Red, is that some sort of nickname from the nostalgic days?" I asked. Clearly referring to the days when I was a baby.

"Yes, seemed appropriate since you were still little then," He explained with a smile. "Now come on, we have to go talk to Big Red."

"Do we have to?" I complained. "I mean I can still get out of here. Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumbass were too easy. Really not making me believe you will be much harder."

"You just crashed into a wall and still want to fight? Defiantly your parent's kid."

"You're the one that made me crash," I glared at him.

Muscles let out a hearty laugh and helped me start walking, sadly, towards the elevator.

"Wait," I said looking back at the wall, "My stuff."

He eyed me carefully, "Stay here," He said after a moment of consideration.

I obeyed orders and ended up in a stare down with Dee and Dumbass. They didn't seem to know my heritage. That holds possibilities.

My familiar smirk fell into place as I called out, "Wanna try that again dipshits?"

FedEx seemed to want to do just that. Buzz-Cut held him back and shook his head. At least somebody has working brain cells today.

"What did you do to them?" Muscles asked as he handed me my tank top and Browning. Apparently he was going to keep hold on all sharp things, good thinking.

I slid on my tank top and remarked, "I went easy on them."


	5. Breakout

**Disclaimer: Bitch please, I don't own G.I. Joe or any other recognizable reference. This would probably be its own movie in that case.**

The ride up to the briefing room was awkward to say the least. Buzz-Cut and FedEx still seemed at least a little pissed at being taken out by a teenage girl in one move each. But Muscles on the other hand, he seemed to think it was pretty funny. I have to agree with Muscles here, because they should've been harder to take out than that. So much for elite-kickass-mystery squad.

With the same annoying ding the elevator doors opened. Muscles walked out first with me beside him, the Twiddles walked behind us, probably so they could make sure I didn't run in the other direction. It's humorous that they think they could stop me, especially since I just kicked they're asses. Poor naïve fools.

We arrived at the briefing room and guess who was standing outside the door? That's right, the parents of the year.

"Can you guys not get in the room or something?" I asked.

"We just wanted to make sure you got here okay," Red answered with a tinge of sadness and hurt in her eyes. Oh shit, please don't tell me I did that.

"Well there was a problem with a wall, but I'm fine."

She shot a look at the Twiddles and I had to laugh. She must think _they_ did it.

Everybody looked at me curiously when I started laughing, "Don't blame them. They were just speed bumps. I hit the wall because Muscles called me Alex while I was running away."

"Speed bumps?" FedEx practically screeched as I did the fingerprint and retina scan. Thankfully, nobody made a comment on the Alex part.

The door slid open and I shot one last glance back at him before entering, "Yeah, those little things that only take a second to get over very easily."

"I am not a _speed bump_," He protested.

"Maybe on that logic you're competent," I muttered as I took the seat at the head of the table.

The only person who was already in the room was Scrawny, and he was sitting basically as far as he could from where I was. He seemed to be fiddling on some sort of handheld device. Computer, maybe? Whatever it was, it a few seconds he had a signal set up and the holographic projector turned on to revel a middle-aged man. Can't say I was quite so surprised they called their coordinator, if that's who this guy was.

"Team, you called-?" He seemed to cut himself off as soon as he saw me. Great, is this another person who recognizes me? I'm starting to think they're all in some sort of club by now.

"Yes, we request to take a civilian back to base for a secure interrogation," Red said formally to the man.

I muttered into my hand, "Civilian my ass."

"And this is the civilian?" He asked.

"Correct."

He barely seemed to consider it, "Permission granted, see you soon." With that the signal was cut.

"So you've got permission from your leader. Good luck getting permission from mine," I remarked as I slowly spun in my chair.

"Already have," Scrawny responded from his spot.

"Alright, so I just go with you guys for the day, answer some questions, come back here?" Trying to keep up the air of nonchalance is really niggling at me.

"Wrong," Red declared. "You are staying at the base until Barakov is found."

Fuck nonchalance, it won't help me here. "Excuse me? What gives you the right to decide that?"

"You know exactly what."

"_You_ relinquished that right the moment I was left to Barakov."

FedEx cut in, "Wait, slow down here. What?"

"Do you want to tell them Red or should I?" I inquired in an innocent voice.

"Al- Chloe," Red corrected herself and forced the explanation on, "Chloe is my daughter."

If I had a camera it would've been put to good use to document the expressions of Buzz-Cut and FedEx. They did not see that coming apparently. Scrawny seems to be the only one to have not showed any hint of knowing besides the Twiddles, but he didn't seem to react. Oh wait, he's a techie, of course he knows. Techies always hack stuff they shouldn't and come up with secrets that are meant to stay buried.

"How could you not tell us?!" FedEx yelled. "Specifically me! I thought you trusted me!"

"Rip, I do trust yo-"

She was cut off by more of his yelling, "Apparently not, how could you not tell me you had a kid? Who's the father?!"

Red shot a nervous look at Ninja. That was all FedEx, or Rip or whatever, needed to keep going.

"Snake Eyes is the dad!" He screamed in realization. He completely dropped the secrecy by then. Snake Eyes, where have I heard that name before? Oh well, add that to list of things to figure out later.

I rolled my eyes and stood up. If someone doesn't intervene this is going to get out of control fast. With a loud hit on the table I had their attention. "Listen FedEx, I'm all for this bitching about never being told shit," He opened his mouth to continue but I cut him off, "_But_, it's not going to get you anywhere. So unless you can have an adult conversation with your _inside voice_ then you will be removed from this room until you calm down."

FedEx calmed down a substantial bit, "Who would be doing the removing?" He asked carefully.

"I'll gladly do it if it would decrease the amount of yelling in the room," I stated as a headache started forming behind my eyes.

He shut his mouth and I took that as a good sign that an ass kicking won't be necessary. Since there seemed to be nothing more for me to say for the moment I plopped back down in my seat and started rubbing my temples. Fucking idiot, giving me a headache with all his yelling.

"I guess it's time for a proper introduction then?" Muscles asked from behind me.

"Only code names for now," Red specified with a don't-dare-defy-me tone.

From the end of the table Scrawny finally looked up from his computer thingamajig. "Breaker," He said with a bit of disinterest still in his voice. Maybe it was disinterest, but maybe he always just spoke in that monotone.

"Ripcord," FedEx said reluctantly. I swear on my katanas that if he doesn't start acting like a mature adult his ass shall be thoroughly kicked back to wherever he came from.

"Duke," Buzz-Cut stated from beside FedEx (I still think FedEx is a better nickname for him at the moment. Ripcord sounds like a real adult's call sign).

"Scarlett," Red said as she tried to keep eye contact with me. I was reluctant to keep it. At least I wasn't to far off with her name.

"Heavy Duty, and I guess you know Snake Eyes already," Muscles said and I saw FedEx flinch a little. Muscles must've given him a steady glare for revealing a _vital_ bit of information. Sarcasm fully intended.

The group seemed to be looking at me to say something. Well if they really want me to, I might as well do it right.

I stood up from my seat and with a full bow and flourish I stated, "Chloe Barakova, or Phantom, or Black Cat, or Alexandria, or many other aliases that I am sure you will trace back to me." I straightened up, "Now if you will excuse me, I'll be going to pack a bag and let you talk about…" With a quick glance at FedEx and Red, "Whatever it is you want to talk about." There's most certainly something going on between those two. I'm just hoping they aren't dating. But with my luck… aw shit.

Before they could protest or dismiss me themselves I ran out the door. But not before sneaking my weapons off Heavy Duty of course. I couldn't leave them with him for what I'm planning.

I sprinted to the elevator which came quickly and was bouncing on my heels during the ride to the JP's level. When the doors opened I continued my sprint towards the training room.

Sure enough, Crock was there training with most of the kids. Thank you for consistency. I bolted into the room and the mirror feature was still on, so they didn't see me coming until I almost busted down the door. With a few quick swipes on the buttons of the internal control panel it was turned off. Nobody can sneak up on us now.

Everybody's attention was on me from my dramatic entrance so I didn't have to call them to order. "I need your guys' help," In all truth I was desperate and it seeped into my voice. I can't pull this off without them.

Crock looked at me with a not-so familiar brotherly worry. Our relationship was mostly snark so worry wasn't the most normal thing for us. "I'm in," He stated confidently without a bit of hesitation.

I sent a grateful smile in his direction and waited for the other kids to make their decisions. In less then thirty seconds all the kids had joined in after a few promises of owing them favors or going to pick up more prank supplies for them. I really hate owing people stuff, but once again, I am desperate.

As I gathered up the stuff I left in here earlier I began explaining. "Crock, I need you to take the SUV and drive it to my house, there's probably a tracker on it already. But I need you to take care of Cerb for a while. So please try pick him up whether you're intercepted or not."

He nodded and I slipped the sheathes for my katanas onto my back. "Yevene," I picked out one of the fastest kids from the bunch present, "I need you to go tell Amir to jam the camera signals, both audio and visual. There's already a hacker he has to go against so his familiarity with our systems will help. Make sure to tell him that, he won't back down from the challenge."

Yevene took off from the room and I turned to face the remaining bunch, "I need all of you to create distractions on all sub-floors but one. Center around six and make sure you booby trap every exit on that floor. That includes the air ducts, they've got a ninja on their side so he could use even the most unconventional ways of escape."

The kids ran off to either start the traps or get the other kids on board. Crock stayed beside me as I loaded my Browning. "Who are they?" He asked hesitantly. He's smart enough not to piss of the girl armed to the teeth.

"The people I'm running from," I spat out as I locked the clip into position.

Crock roughly grabbed me by the arm and forced me to look him in the eye. "Nobody has made you run like this before."

My eyes reluctantly watered just slightly, "They're my parents, Crock, the red head and the ninja looking guy. I can't go with them. I have to find Barakov."

I was about to keep going but he cut me off by hugging me. It surprised me, but I hugged him back nonetheless. This guy was my best friend, my _brother_, and now I won't see him for who knows how long. A tear slipped out and rolled onto his shoulder. I felt myself shaking slightly and Crock hugged me tighter as a sob broke from my throat.

"Just stay safe," He whispered.

"I'll try," I whispered back just as quiet. "Don't take the SUV for another five minutes; I have to grab the rest of my stuff."

Crock released me and nodded. We shared a small smile and I darted out of the near empty training room. With as much speed as I could muster I ran to my room. When I got there I slammed the door behind me and locked the door. The lock won't stop anyone but it will sure as hell slow them down fast enough for me to make my escape.

I quickly threw off my sweat pants and replaced them with the jeans I was wearing earlier. I also slid the green shirt on over my tank top and replaced the strap of weapons under my shirt that I had to remove earlier. With a quick glance around I lunged at my closet and tugged my black Phantom jacked from a hanger. It's one of my favorites because it has weapon inserts on the inside. Sure enough I quickly inserted weapons inside and got to work grabbing other shit and shoving it in my dark green duffel bag.

The contents ended up being one pair of pajamas, both alias uniforms, some civilian clothing, my katanas, the rest of the weapons I couldn't fit on person at the moment, multiple currencies for surrounding countries and some more common ones like euros, and a few different passports under multiple civilian aliases from multiple country origins. What can I say? Barakov and I were always prepared for relocation.

With a final sweep of the room I laced up my Phantom boots and slipped on my Black Cat gloves. Time to make my escape. A glance at the watch I slapped on my wrist sometime during the chaos showed it was just over five minutes since I entered my room. I need to leave and I need to leave now.

Another kick start of my legs sent me out of my newly opened door and towards the elevator. It was the fastest way to sub-floor one, but not the best guarantee. Their techie could shut it down at any moment, but they might still think I'm going with them willingly. Dipshits.

The elevator, thankfully, made it all the way to my destination without interruption. This was going off without a hitch so I relaxed a little, then tensed back up. There is no thinking this will be easy. I've been stupid enough to think something was easy before and it almost got me killed multiple times. A few by Storm Shadow.

He seemed to believe in tough love without the love part. He was a merciless teacher and only said things once. You either picked up on it or not. That's just how it was. But if you forgot one of the more important things he said, well, say goodbye to a part of yourself. Whether it be pride, or a little blood and injury. Quite a few scars of mine actually link back to days when he taught me my katanas and throwing stars and knives and assorted other sharp weapons and martial arts. Though I have to admit his teachings were effective. Otherwise I wouldn't be as lethal as I am now. Or ruthless. Or cold.

I have to say, I don't exactly miss him. Sure I would like to see him again, know what happened to him, and start filling in the blanks. But I'm not all that eager for it.

My thoughts dragged on as my feet moved in key towards a familiar high powered motorcycle with turbo acceleration. Perfect. I swung my foot over the seat and settled in. A quick check showed my bag was secure on my back, my Browning was secure in my waistband and the keys were safely inserted into the ignition.

A small twist of the key made the engine roar to life. Oh I love motorcycles. With a twist of the throttle and a hit at the clicker on the handlebars I took off from the parking space. The ramp up to the ground opened up and I rode up it. In the process of leaving the base behind me I caught a glance at what the mystery group must've used to get here. It was a pretty sweet version of a helicopter.

But beside the opening to the inside of it was Duke, waiting there, probably for me and the rest of the group. He had bright pink paint on his left shoulder and neck. Must've just barely doged from getting hit in the face. _Good job, kiddos._ I sent a wave courteous wave in his direction. _Do not raise suspicion _flashed across my mind. He returned the gesture and obviously didn't see the red hair barely peeking out from under my helmet.

While my eyes were sweeping back to face the front I noticed that the SUV was gone. _Good job, Crock._ They'll probably try to find him before they try to find the random motorcyclist when they realize I'm gone. Which is inevitable. But either way, it gives me that much more of a head start. I am actually sorry to sacrifice Crock to them, but I would go along with it if he needed me to fill the role, maybe.

A hit on another clicker opened the front gate and I was gone. Goodbye Interpol. Hello rouge life. At least for a little while.

**A/N: Hello! I'm updating from Mexico. Yes, I updated while on vacation, you better feel special. I whipped this up within a few hours so feel free to tell me it was bad. **

**And a few of you said you didn't expect some things last chapter. I'm kinda curious as to what it was you didn't expect for some reason. So shoot me a PM or something if you feel like it to explain.**

**This chapter was a bit more serious towards the end. I thought it was getting too bubbly for the serious story this is supposed to be. So this happened! Anyways, read and review. Four reviews for this chapter maybe?**


	6. Favors

**Disclaimer: No, just no.**

Riding on a motorcycle for over an hour really hurts your ass. I'm speaking from experience here. A conveniently timed rumble from my stomach made it that much more tempting for me to stop for a little while and eat. By now I was almost to the Russian border and figuring out a way to slip past with a bunch of weapons alone is going to take at least a few minutes. I suppose I could use that time to grab some warm food to block out the winter's cold that's trying to nip at every bit of exposed skin I have.

All right, it's settled, next diner I pass will be the one I'm eating at. Now that I think about it, I need to make a call anyways. A quick call and lunch it is.

The next diner I passed was after another five kilometers of trees and bushes and more trees. Stupid greenery. Sure if you live in a city most of the time the change of pace is great. But I don't, so fuck that with a double edged knife. In all truth, the next planned destination besides the diner and border point is in a decently sized city, thank God for that. Novosibirsk to be exact, or Omsk if need be.

The diner was a quaint little thing on the side of the road, nestled in the trees so you almost don't know it's there. Beside it was a small petrol station for travelers. Maybe it sells burn phones, I'll have to check after I raid the snack aisle.

After I dismounted my motorcycle and parked it so it was hiding just a few feet into the trees, I approached the diner. A bell alerted my presence to the mostly empty eatery. Besides me there was a server, a couple sitting in a booth off to the side, and an old man sitting at the counter, there was most likely a cook in the back.

The server greeted me with a warm smile that was obviously practiced in a mirror. She told me in Russian to take whatever seat I wanted. I was silently glad that it was close enough to the border for there to be Russian speakers here, not to mention Kazakhstan is a previous U.S.S.R. country. That comes in handy.

I took a seat at the counter as far as I could to the right, seeing that the other patrons seemed to favor the left side. With a sleek movement I pulled off my gloves, mostly to keep people from seeing the knife inserts in the knuckles, and shoved them in a pocket inside my jacket. I also made sure my jacket was zipped up so these lovely people wouldn't notice all my sharp toys hidden inside. My duffel was positioned at my feet since I didn't dare leave it with the motorcycle.

The old man shot me a disapproving look. He must think I ran away or was pregnant or both. Technically, I did run away from home but it's not like I'm just some average teenager. For one I actually knew where I was going and that I have a place to stay. Not to mention that anyone who tries to mess with me _will_ end up with at least a mildly fatal wound.

Flipping him off crossed my mind. But I doubt he's current enough to even know what it means. So I opted for giving him the glare that makes most people shit their pants in fear. It's happened a few times so I can say that literally happens. Crock calls it my "Bat-Glare". Something to do with an American comic and him being a complete dork.

Almost needless to say the geezer quickly turned away. The server decided to come give me a menu at that moment. She seemed to note the flustered dinosaur before coming over to me. I swear I saw a smile ghost across her features before she got to me. The old man must be particularly unpleasant then. It took a teenager to put him in his place, wow. These people could learn something from standing up for themselves. Although I'm not sticking around long enough for lessons.

"Добро пожаловать, я могу вам что-нибудь выпить?" (Welcome, can I get you something to drink?) The waitress asked with an annoying bit of perk in her voice.

"кофе,"(Coffee,) I answered back, still pouring over the menu. Caffeine buzz, great for a thinking process. At least one that's relatively shorter.

The waitress departed and quickly reappeared with a white cup on a saucer and a pot of coffee. She poured it and directed me to the bowl of cream containers and packets of sugar off to the side of the counter. I gave her my order, waffles with fried eggs, and got to work setting up my coffee. One thing of cream and two sugars.

I slowly sipped the still bitter drink and let the warmth sink in. There are a few ways to cross a border with cautious content. One, bribe the checker. Two, call in a favor to get though. Three, sneak through. Four, ram through. Three and four won't be on my side today because if a single thing goes through with that then a trail will be on me within the hour. Bribing doesn't always work because some people still actually have morals, that population is decreasing though. Favor it is. That's two calls I'll have to make when I'm done eating. Well, maybe one if I can play my cards right. Although the payback for the favor could be pretty bad. I'll have to see.

My thoughts must've slipped me up enough because the next thing I knew a plate of food was being slid in front of me. The waffles gave me enough time to recall the number from my mind and the eggs let me figure out what to say. Now who am I going to call you may be asking? The idiot known as the Mad Hatter. He is an emergencies only contact and I'm really beginning to regret not going with the mystery group. Then I wouldn't have to call Hatter at the very least.

In a robotic state I paid for my meal and exited the diner with my duffel in hand. I grabbed my motorcycle from the greenery and set it next to one of the gas pumps so I could fill it up in a second.

With another pestering bell ring, I entered into the small convenience store. The heavy set man nodded in recognition from behind the counter. My feet took me through the small aisles, looking at the assorted goods as I went.

By the time I finished my stroll I had picked up four bags of chips and three bottles of water. Mine as well travel light. When I dumped all the stuff at the front counter the cashier gave me an odd look.

I shrugged it off and put down 4,000 tenge on pump two. If the math in my head is correct than that's about thirty American dollars, give or take. As far as I could see, this place didn't sell burn phones. Well that bombs. Guess I'll have to use the landline, bit more risky than a mobile. It's still better than nothing.

With a quick direction he told me where the pay phone was and left me to my merry business. Are mysterious travelers a normality around here? For some reason the words "axe murder" popped into my head at that point. Stupid Crock for always making me watch cheesy horror movies with him.

_The idea of turning myself in at this point is starting to sound better and better_, I thought as I pressed the numbered buttons.

One ring, two rings, three rings, I slowly counted off in my head. When the toll hit five rings, and I was about to hang up the phone, a cheery voice resounded from the other end.

"Sal's butcher shop, we slice and dice with a set price," The deep tone said with fake cheer.

"Really Sal? That's your newest slogan? What happened to 'slice with a smile'?" I couldn't help but ask. Every time I call this place it has a new dumb catch phrase.

The connection seemed lost for a second until I heard the slight choking breath. I was about to yell at him when he answered back, "Petunia, that you?"

Whatever possessed Hatter for my nickname to be Petunia over the phone lines needs to be killed, no torched slowly. With forced words, I responded, "Yeah, it's _Petunia_. Is Mr. Teapot there?" I used my nickname for Hatter just as a little insurance for Sal to realize it's me. Although he doesn't like tea much, Hatter chose the name Mad Hatter and I went with it the old school Wonderland way.

"You just caught him actually. He's heading out to Long Island in five minutes. Just give me a sec to get him," The sound of the headset hitting the back counter was registered in my mind. Less than a minute later, the sound of it being picked up was tossed to my ears.

"Well well, what does the fabulous Ms. Cat want this time? A date perhaps, finally?" Hatter had his charm meter kicked up to eleven. Fucking bastard.

"Shut your flirt hole, Hatter. I need your help. Meet me in Petropavi by tomorrow at six in the evening. You know the park we went to a year ago, right?"

"Let me get this right," He started off with a little less charm, "You want me to travel across the world for who knows what. And you choose Petropavi for our meeting place. Sure know how to impress a guy, Clo."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone at this point. But if you want me to test out my knife skills the next time I see you on your most precious appen-"

Hatter cut me off before I could continue. "Alright! No need to hurt the merchandise. Can you at least tell me why I have to cancel at least my week's plans for this?"

"Not on an open line," I responded briskly.

"It's a date, isn't it?" The smirk in his voice was painfully obvious.

"Hatter! Shut the ever loving fuck up!" I had to keep my voice down to not alert the man behind the counter that I've now come to refer to as Axey.

"Fine, touchy much. I'll be there, but you still owe me a date."

"Fuck you," I monotoned into the receiver.

"Well, it's normally protocol to save that for after dinner, but if you insist…" He trailed off.

"Do I need to repeat the previous knife threat? Because by now I would hope you would know my threats are never empty."

"I'll just go ahead and find a flight out to Kazakhstan. It's the only way I'll get to keep the kiwis, and I'm going to need those for after that date."

"You'd be better off just shutting up. I'm going to hang up now. See you tomorrow," I didn't give him a chance to reply and hung up the call.

_**~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~**_

I sat on a bench in a familiar Petropovi park that I knew only by location. The cold was getting to me and I was about ready to leave. The strong possibility that Hatter stood me up was still lingering at the forefront of my mind.

With a final sigh I slung my duffel over my shoulder and started walking back towards where I parked my bike. _The bastard_ did_ stand me up_, I thought as I glanced at the clock in the middle of the park. It read six thirty-two. My thoughts wandered to multiple obscenities that would make a nun blush as I slowly trudged down the gravel path to my motorcycle with my head down.

In later speculation, if I had been walking with my head up, I might've noticed the guy leaning on it quicker.

But sure enough, there was a guy leaning against my motorcycle. White-blonde hair peeking out from underneath a black fedora, blue eyes, Caucasian, somewhere around 6' 1", around seventeen years of age. The Mad Hatter. Or Brick now that he was in civilian attire. Not sure what he uses as his last name as of this moment.

"Way to keep a guy waiting," He remarked with a smile.

"Technically you kept me waiting. I said to meet at the park, not at the parking spaces on the street."

"You just have to be right, don't you?"

"I thought you knew the answer to that already," I teased with a smirk.

With a roll of his eyes he walked closer to me, "So what next?"

"Now we go border hopping," I announced with as much confidence as I could muster.

**A/N: You like-y? I have excuses, multiple excuses for this taking so long. One, my other stories needed to be updated **_**way**_** more than this. Two, school started. Three, I got caught up in birthday celebrations. **

** You're still going to chase me with pitchforks aren't you? Damn.**

** Well expect a lot more characters to be introduced soon. Hatter is only the first of many. **

** Tenge is the currency of Kazakhstan. Petropavi is a city on the border of Kazakhstan and Russia. I know my facts people.**

** Read, review, the usual.**


	7. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: Do you even have to freakin' ask at this point?**

"So," Brick drawled out, "How's Interpol going?"

And he's seriously trying to figure out why I left _now_? _Idiot_. We're on a fucking plane for one. That emergency door is starting to look like a plausible option for Brick's next freefall. Well, it's a private plane for one though. His connections to the American mob really do come in handy, I must admit. See, there was a reason I kept in contact with him after all.

"I practically handed in my resignation two days ago," I responded, staring out the window. Let's face it; they probably won't take me back after this stunt. That's if I survive of course. If it would take an entire team of those guys just to go after whoever took Barakov, then how much of a dent am I going to make? Considering I haven't even briefed Hatter on why I even brought him into this, the possibility that I'm doing this alone is staring me in the face.

He clicked his tongue a few times, as if wrapping his head around that. "Why's that?"

"Brilliant question, Teapot, how 'bout it stays that way?" I bit back.

He was about to place his hand on my shoulder, but thought better of it at the last second. Good choice. He instead scratched the back of his neck to cover up his very noticeable attempt, "And I thought we could act civil to each other, Clo."

"Civil would be in silence, at least then I won't pull a knife on you." Banging my head against the inner hull of the plane is starting to sound really tempting. At least then I might pass out for the rest of the flight.

"And some wonder why only Barakov could take care of you, you can be violent psychos together," Hatter muttered as he walked towards a separate seat in the back of the plane.

Without even a second thought, I had pulled a knife out of my jacket and thrown it at his stupid hat. It lifted the black fedora off his head and pinned it against the back wall. "Silence yourself before I do it permanently," I growled out.

Brick lifted a hand to his head and ruffled his white-blonde hair. A few newly trimmed pieces fell to his shoulders and the floor around his feet. "I needed a haircut, thanks. Can you make it even?"

"Bastard," I breathed out as I sank back into my plush seat.

Its times like this that I really regret not making other connections, or at least making a loop back to the house for our contact list that is literally in the safe next to the front door. Then I would be minus one cocky American asshole and plus someone I can cooperate with for more than five seconds. But the only real upside to keeping relation with Hatter is the access to his team.

Yes, he has a team. Highly dangerous teenagers from most locales around the world. You'd be surprised how many potential allies you can make in this business. Hatter took advantage of that. Now he has a full team of little Wonderland children he keeps tucked in his pocket for emergencies.

There's Rabid Rabbit for one, she's one of my best friends of the Wonders. A real good time, that girl. Also the resident sniper. Although she's called Rabbit for her quickness with knives. _Never _get into close up combat with that girl unless you seriously know what you're doing. Otherwise you can kiss one of your body parts goodbye.

Then The Jabberwock, Rabbit's companion. He's surprisingly protective of her. But I suppose someone has to be when there's someone as reckless as her in this world. He used to be some sort of test subject and became a product of forced genetic mutation. Whenever he gets a good adrenaline rush going, he turns into a giant beast, quite literally. On the down side, the guy has some serious control problems last time I checked. But that was a little over a year ago, so here's to hoping for the best.

Also The Red Queen, a Cuban mob boss. She has a good taste in caffeine and fire arms. A good ally. And a better fighter. Not to mention negotiator. She has the sharpest tongue on the team, and has basically gotten them out of quite a few situations with just a few choice sentences. Very commendable.

And not to forget Caterpillar, the hacker/techie. If memory serves correct, him and Crock still talk to this day. They became quite close after our last chance encounter somewhere around Morocco. There's not much else to say about him besides he has the most basic knowledge of fighting down and could still break his hand trying to punch you. If he ever comes out from behind the scenes it's usually very important.

Last, and probably least in my opinion, The Mad Hatter. He fits somewhere in there as leader and miscellaneous weapons holder. Also strategist and the only person you would accuse of being on crack out of the entire team. Quite a flirt and entirely too immature for his own good. He constantly tries to remain a small light for the team, even when death seems almost close enough to shake hands with. If he was a better damn leader, they wouldn't be in that situation, but personal opinions aside.

Where do I fall in, you might be asking. I believe I am the Cheshire Cat of the group, coming and going on the whim of the wind. It's never been confirmed or denied, seeing as that the second an op is completed with them I peel out faster than a roadrunner on fifteen energy shots. But I at least have worked with them long enough to be trusted with identities and assorted other background information. Not something many others could touch even with a ten-foot pole.

This flight is seriously not going fast enough. How much fucking longer am I going to be stuck in the small space with _him_? At least when we land I can make an excuse of going to buy food to re-stock the safe house. It's been years since its been used after all. But for now? Well, sleep seems like a very likely possibility. Considering that at the hotel we stayed at last night Brick wasn't the nicest person to share a bed with. He's a snuggler, I can barely stand human contact as is. How I restrained myself from killing him, I'll never know. Either way, it cost me plenty of sleep.

Sleep it is. I curled up into the plush seat; even though I know when I wake up I'll have to peel my skin from the leather.

As the tendrils of unconsciousness wrapped me up, so did the darkness of my dream. On a quick 360 all I could see was black. Wait, scratch that. There's one speck of light, but it seems pretty far away. Instinct told me to run far, far away from it, but my legs weren't listening.

The closer I got, the more defined a shape was under the light. It appeared to be a human sitting in a chair, slouched over. Most likely male by the size.

Even closer still I could make out black hair streaked and speckled with grey, a large green jacket with a tear on the upper left arm. That almost stopped my heart right there. That's _Barakov's_ jacket. I accidently made that tear one morning when he employed one of his wake-up plans.

With hesitant steps I rounded the person, who I hope is just wearing Barakov's jacket. Well shit, its Barakov alright. Although he looks a little worse for wear. Bruises litter almost every bit of his exposed skin and there's a few cuts here and there that defiantly would need medical treatment. But it's still him, and by that defiant look in his eye, he hasn't given up yet.

Then my dream morphed. It switched to a familiar building with a Japanese feel. Oh you've _got _to be shitting me. This was the building I was taught in by Storm Shadow. Why the hell am I coming back here? Even in dream land?

Sounds drifted from behind a screen door. Sounded like fighting mixed with shouting. A sword clash followed by, "Keep fighting! You won't be a disgrace when I'm teaching you!" _Storm Shadow_.

A voice that could be classified as a little me resounded back, "I am not a disgrace Sensei!"

"That will be decided by me, and eventually by my brother."

I finally worked up my courage and pulled back the screen door. But it wasn't me fighting Storm Shadow anymore. It was Snake Eyes. As their swords clashed the symbols on the metal shown in the light.

Storm Shadow was still the only one talking, seeing as how Snake Eyes is basically mute. "I expected better brother, emotion is getting the best of you."

Wait, hold on for a second here. Storm Shadow always made little off-hand comments about his mysterious "brother", I never thought anything of it until now. And now it seems that Snake Eyes is his brother. So my ruthless teacher and my father are brothers? Just when I thought my family tree couldn't get any more messed up too. Really, what did I do to piss of the world to be in this situation?

The dream morphed once again. This time to me and Snake Eyes fighting with Storm Shadow off to the side watching. His eyes cold and calculating.

It was obvious that Snake Eyes was purely on the defensive, trying his best to not get hit and to not hit back. But dream-me on the other hand, she was practically taking every dirty chance to slice Snake.

Storm Shadow called out from the sidelines, "Kill him."

Dream-me gave a swift and robotic nod, almost like she was being controlled. No matter what efforts I did to call out, it was like my throat was to dry to make any noise. My feet felt glued to the floor.

Then the perspective changed, suddenly I was the one fighting Snake Eyes. Against my own will my hands forced my katana forward and straight through his armor and body then armor again. I had just turned my father into a ninja shiska-bob.

My movements finally seemed my own again. I let go of the woven handle and stumbled back. After three steps I tripped over my own feet and fell on my ass. My gaze was still stuck on where my sword punctured Snake. There was already blood trickling down and pooling on the bamboo mats below. Every part of my body felt numb.

Sharp claps cut through the air. Storm Shadow was _clapping_. _What the hell?_ He walked over towards me and held out his hand. I took it and he helped me up.

"Your training is complete," He announced with malice practically soaked into the words.

My real eyes flew open to see Brick's face within a foot of mine. "What do you want?" I growled out.

His blue eyes swept over me, I knew I was shaking, but trying to control it was getting a bit difficult. "You alright?"

"Of course I am," I spit back. "Now could you get out of my personal space?"

He backed up another foot. At least he was farther away. "Just wanted to make sure you were alright, you were kinda thrashing around like a fish."

"Just a dream," I dismissed. That phrase seemed like it was more for me than for him. Now I can't stop chanting it in my head. _Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream_. That's all it was, a bad dream.

"Alright," He muttered on the skeptical side. "We're here by the way."

I glanced out the window and sure enough, airport tarmac was laid out. With a swift movement I stood up and pulled my duffel bag out from under the seat. It put me chest to chest with Hatter. It also made me realize how much taller than me he was. Over half a foot to be exact.

"So, you ready to go?" I asked.

"Born ready," He drawled out with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes and shuffled out into the aisle. "Try and keep up, Teapot," I called out as I climbed down the retractable stairs of the plane.

**A/N: Yeah, I'm really sorry for not updating for so long. Hope this makes up for it. We'll be seeing the new characters listed off very soon. Well, as soon as my next update hopefully. **

**Just a quick advertisement, Nerds of the Nations is doing a SYOC for a Marvel and DC universe crossover. I sent in a form and it looks like it'll be good. So check it out and send one in if you like. There's still about a whole month until the deadline.**

**~To Shakaka: Thank you for the awesome reviews! Can't wait to see more, and I'm glad you adore the fic!**


	8. Dust Bunnies

**Disclaimer: You're still asking about that, huh? Well nope.**

If there's one thing I can say right now that is 100% true, it would be that I missed Russia.

Russia, _my_ home turf. Something about this country, no matter where I am in this large expanse of land, makes me feel a bit more secure and confident. Maybe it's something to do with the "home field advantage" thing that is primarily referenced in sports these days.

Brick let out a low whistle as the taxi we were in carried us farther into Novosibirsk. "This is a Misfits' playground." The Misfits is Brick's personal name for the Wonderland team. It kinda fits though if you really think about it.

"Well I hope they like it," I mumbled. Most of my attention was on making little doodles in the frost of the taxi's window. So far I had two throwing stars drawn, currently working on an owl for some reason.

"So is that why you called me? For my team?" He sounded perfectly calm.

"You should be used to it by now," I replied, still doodling.

"You would think I would be," He muttered. "I suppose it's a good thing I already called them then."

I met his eyes in the slight reflection given off by the glass. I gave a small smile as my thanks and continued doodling. That's when I reached the eyes of the owl. Owl's eyes have always perplexed me. They're usually a bright yellow and always a piercing gaze filled with intelligence. A drawing just wouldn't do it justice, so I gave up and erased the entire thing with my palm.

The car ride was silent from then on, for which I was thankful. It made figuring out a way to tell everyone that Barakov has been kidnapped and I want to lead them on a death mission easier. Well, only slightly. Not like I had to admit to breaking a vase like a small child. I would take that any day.

Finally, the taxi pulled up to the rundown building Barakov and I use as a safe house in this city. We have lease to all of the apartments on the top floor (which is only four apartments, each with two bedrooms) of the six story building and I love it. If you look closely out of my bedroom window then you can see the Ob just barely.

I had to restrain myself from leaping out of the car and running up to the building. But what can I say? Out of all the safe houses, this one is just about my favorite. Next to the one in London and St. Petersburg.

Instead of acting like a child, I paid the taxi driver in full with a heavy tip to erase this address from his daily logs. So with my bag over my shoulder, I headed towards the heavy doors of the apartment building. The opened smoothly, like we never left. I stepped swiftly inside and was ready to shut the door to keep the cold out when I noticed a certain someone still hanging outside.

"Are you coming in or not?" I asked.

"I feel like the moment I step in, it's gonna collapse on my head," He replied, staring up at the old architectural features of the outside.

"Are you trying to give me hope?" I pondered. The guy could use a knock to the head, just saying.

"It doesn't look safe is all I'm getting at here," Brick stubbornly kept his spot outside. In the snow. That fucking idiot.

"I'm sorry we can't stay at a five-star hotel just to please the poor little American boy, but perhaps you could suck it up sometime this century and come in?" Brick just gets on my nerves.

He still looked unconvinced. I can't entirely blame him. This building is old, yes. This building looks rickety, yes. But it's not going to collapse anytime soon.

"Alright," He whispered unsurely, "But if I die, nobody gets my stuff."

"How generous," I remarked as he walked though the doorway, tracking snow in at that. Since almost no one lives here anymore, I'll probably have to be the one cleaning that up. Wonderful. I wrapped a piece of my hair that had come loose from my bun around my finger, "I think you gave me grey hair from having to wait so long for you to get inside."

"That was so funny I forgot to laugh," Brick scowled at me.

"Don't worry," I taunted, "There'll be another opportunity soon enough."

"Oh, because you're just so _hilarious_."

"Congrats! You finally said something right!" I chided as we ran up the stairs. Almost having an unofficial race against the other.

I could hear Brick snort in derision as I edged ahead. "I say things right all the time!" He defended.

"Ha!" I let out on a breath, "When?"

"That one time, and then like twice after that at least!"

"Oh my, I stand corrected! Bow for the mighty Hatter and his big mouth!" I yelled up the empty stairway. With only one more floor to go nobody below could hear anything but the reverberation, the acoustics suck after all.

On the brief platform before the final expanse of stairs to the sixth floor Hatter pulled my bag and made me fall on my ass.

He grinned as he started _walking_ up the stairs, "It's not bowing, but I'll take it."

I yanked myself to my feet and screamed up at him, "Asshole!"

Brick defiantly yelled loud enough for everyone in the building to hear, "GINGERS HAVE NO SOULS!"

I sprinted up the stairs to see him leaning casually up against the doorframe to the first apartment's door. "At least then I won't have to see you in hell," I sweetly said before hitting him in the shoulder.

Teapot rubbed his shoulder dramatically. "Did you get stronger?"

A simple shrug was my response as I dug my fingers into the small slot in the tile floor to get the key.

"Was it that famous Russian training? Hmm? Because I swear Russian training is what they make the bad people do in hell…" He continued on, but I tuned him out after a few more rude jokes.

After his rambling on for about another five seconds or so I spat out at him, "Maybe you just got weaker."

His blue eyes were as wide as saucers, "How _dare_ you Miss Barakova!"

"What?" I hashed back, "It could easily be true. When was the last time you trained at all?"

"Last week," He mumbled almost inaudibly.

"I should make you run outside in just shorts," I growled out.

"Why shorts?" He screeched.

"Because then you haul ass through the snow."

The key finally clicked in the lock and I pushed the old door open with an ungrateful squeak of its hinges. The key felt surprisingly warm when I slipped it into my front pocket.

Before me lay my simple paradise in this city. All you could see from walking straight in the door was the living room, which held a cloth covered couch and coffee table, the hallway to the bedrooms and single bathroom, and the bleak entrance to the kitchen. All the walls were still a meek white from never having been painted. The entire floor used to be dark grey-ish wood panels, but now it seems to have turned into a breeding ground for dust.

Brick peeked over my shoulder to look into the apartment. "Ever hear of a maid service?"

I scoffed, "And let them have a shot at finding all the stuff we keep here? Not likely."

Finally taking a deep breath, I stepped through the threshold. My boots stirred up the dust and left defined prints behind. It almost brought a sort of whimsy as the dust floated lithely around my ankles.

Hatter was still standing outside the doorway. "What do you keep here then?" He asked with a raised brow.

I racked my mind slightly, "Blank passports, cash, weapons, stuff we've stolen. I'll have to check and get back with you later."

He finally sauntered inside with heavy steps and slammed the door behind him. Stealth really isn't his thing. Ever. "This sounds like my kind of place."

A shrug rippled across my shoulders, "You should see my uncle's house up north. That stash will make you squeal like a little girl."

"'Uncle'? You have family? I thought you were genetically engineered to be a badass from a test tube!" He interjected rather rudely.

I refrained from hitting him so hard he'd have to eat through a straw for the rest of his life. After all, he doesn't know about the current situation as to why I called him. Also, I've never been to open about doing a whole all-about-me presentation.

"Do you think before you speak? Or do the words just fall out in that form?" I scowled at him.

"Not answering the question," He sing-songed, adding in a click of his heels to swirl up more dust.

My mind worked three times faster just to find a way to phrase it without seeming like a kicked puppy. Because "Oh my parents just gave me up to a psycho who turned me into a weapon" _always _works.

Hesitation became my friend in the minute it took me to come up with an answer. "I'll explain everything when the rest of the group gets here." Procrastination is my new best friend by the way.

Hatter leaned forward expectantly, "Promise?"

"Yeah, sure. Promise, whatever," I swatted the air around me to shake off the small feeling of dread filling the pit of my stomach.

That wasn't enough for the King of Idiots though, "Pinky promise?" He held out his pinky finger to me.

I just stared at said finger for about twenty seconds before blinking and holding up my own pinky finger. I'd never even heard of a "pinky promise" until two years ago from Hatter. I just went with it at the time. He kept with it though, although the point of it has still escaped me.

Our fingers locked for a second. Then he let go and started his path over to the cloth covered three-seater couch. A cloth cover was the only way to keep the dust from massacring that too. The mattresses in the bedrooms also have them.

Before he could plop down I grabbed the arm of his coat and kept him standing. "Hang on there Hatter, we still have to clean before everyone gets here. Which should be about what? Twelve hours?"

"Twelve hours?! Why do we have to clean now then?" His jaw almost hit the bottom floor of the apartment building.

"We have to clean all four apartments, each apartment has six areas each that have been accumulating dirt and dust for at least the past five or six years. That's why." I threw my bag on the couch and started for the kitchen to get cleaning supplies kept in the pantry and cabinets.

"That's a lot of cleaning!" He protested.

"That's why you better start cleaning. Unless you would rather go out to the market to get food and the works?"

Brick nodded his head enthusiastically, "I'll take shopping over cleaning."

I smirked, pulling the upper hand, "Do you speak Russian?"

"Damn it all," He grumbled and hung his head.

A quick pat on his head and I was grabbing money out of my bag. "Start with the kitchen so I'll at least have somewhere to put the food," I cheerily remarked before skipping to the door. I opened it and hesitated, "I'll be back before sundown." With that I closed the door behind me and started the trek down the stairs.

It allowed me to clear my head. For one, I'm actually glad to have Hatter in this situation, no matter how much I show to hate it. It's better than being alone. Second, maybe having everyone else here won't be so bad… One big friend gathering, at least until a plan is sorted out for what to do. _Yeah, that won't be so bad at all_, I thought with a smile gracing over my features before stepping out into the snow.

_**~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~**_

The entire two and a half hours I'd been out it seemed like I was being watched every second. But whenever I turned around everyone was still milling around their business on their own, not even paying me a second glance, if even a first.

Either way, I was now laden with bags of whatever produce I could snatch for this time of year, other food, and everyday conveniences like toilet paper for example. The walk up the stairs was starting to let a dull soreness form in my calves. I haven't sat down once for almost three hours. Three hours of negotiating prices, almost brawling with common citizens and market clerks alike, and walking with bags weighing me down more and more. God, Barakov would be disappointed.

After a good five minutes of fiddling with the doorknob I finally set the bags down to open the door. Why Hatter didn't hear me trying to open the door is over my head.

Although, walking in and seeing him passed out on the couch answered that perfectly.

I would've kicked the couch to wake him up if I wasn't so impressed by the amount of work he completed. All the floors were swept, windows cleaned, kitchen and bathroom polished to perfection. I also took a peek inside the other apartments; he at least swept all the floors in them. Picked the locks to get in from later inspection.

After putting the food away, I settled into the living room and decided to follow Hatter's lead and sleep. So I curled up on the floor beside the couch with my bag as a pillow.

It _was_ nice until a banging alerted me into consciousness.

Brick was still snoring away on the couch. So I took the liberty of standing and holding three throwing stars at the ready with more just a reach away in my jacket.

The banging, which I realized was someone knocking after the final dredges of sleep faded, ceased when I yelled that it was open.

The door opened to show all of the Misfits. Rabbit was in front with a gleaming smile. Then there was the Red Queen, or just Queen, to her left with that almost permanent scowl she always has. To Rabbit's right was Jabberwock, being as emotional as a cement wall as usual, except on his back he had a passenger. Caterpillar, with his cheeky grin and all. They all had their own bags, big enough to hold all of their individual weapons and supplies. Good.

Rabbit let her full toothy smile turn into an easy, cool grin at the sight that awaited all of them. "Well it's been a while, Clo."

**A/N: I'm just gonna end it there. Excuse any mistakes please, its late so I wrote because I couldn't sleep. Blame lack of sleep on any mistakes. Looking back on it I realize how much more of the story I want to do, this is probably only like ¼ of how long I want to be into this, probably less. Now I have to get to bed or I'll never make it through school tomorrow. Sorry for the late update and all that jazz. Bye.**


	9. Brawl

**Disclaimer: Nope, nein, no. I don't own!**

Looking at my old friends standing in my doorway made me consider a few things. For one, now this means I have to fess up as to why I dragged them all from wherever they were in the world to Russia. Two, the chance of finding Barakov just went up. Three, there's someone missing from this picture. Crock. Usually he's here with us having fun and such. Now I have to find a way to contact him or he'll be bitching about what he missed out on. Great.

Well, off that dreary note, I haven't seen these guys in almost six months if my mental tab is even close to correct. They've changed slightly.

Rabbit was in perfect 5'8" Barbie form. Which means I must've pulled her away from a photo shoot for her side job as a model. We all have side jobs believe it or not. Her dark chocolate colored shoulder blade length hair was straight with her bangs covering her forehead. Blue-grey eyes a bit darker than my own were done up in eyeliner and other makeup, along with the rest of her face. You could tell a layer or twenty of powder was covering her pale skin. (Her pale skin is always a joke with us because supposedly she's part Native American, which makes no sense to us whatsoever considering she also grew up in Russia.) The makeup artists are stupid where she works, I know because I've gone to meet up with her at some shoots. They make her look 27 and older when she's only 17. I'm just glad she didn't bring those hideous clothes and treacherous shoes with her.

Queen looked like she was just dragged away from a fight. Which would precede her reputation perfectly. She's 5'9", but it looks like pressure and stress has been weighing down on her and making her shorter. Her jet black, wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail with long pieces of hair framing her face. She wore no makeup over her tanned Latina skin. She's never bothered with it because nobody back in Cuba would take her seriously if she started trying to look like a doll; she's already young enough to be treated as a kid, 19 to be exact. Hey, when you're a mob boss in a dangerous country, you do whatcha gotta do. Her eyes looked like pieces of frozen chocolate, cold and brown. I don't worry about her constant glare though, I've just gotten used to it. Hatter says the glare just means she likes you.

Jabberwocky stood in full 6'4" stature. If you didn't know why he was so buff, you would say it was steroids. The real answer is that instead of going full beast in a fight, he actually prefers staying human. Can't blame him at all for that one. All the working out has made his features sharper and more defined then when I last saw. The experiments which gave him his whole beast conundrum also sapped the melanin supplies in his body, so now he's pretty much an albino. His white hair in a military cut, red eyes covered with contacts to make them a muggy brown, and pale skin ignored. From what I've been told and old pictures I've been shown, he used to have shaggy brown hair, green eyes, and surfer standard tanned skin. But that was all back when he was 12. Now he's 18.

Caterpillar still clung on Jabberwocky's back with wiry limbs. It gave him height he didn't have. His actual height minus the muscle man was only 5' 7", one inch taller than me, that's defiantly new. The kid's only a few months younger than me and veritably the only one in the group that can be called a kid. He's adorable as long as you don't give him alcohol. But that's another story for another time. His messy black hair sat funny on his head, like an animal curled up and died there. It didn't help that he had blue streaks running through it. His dark grey eyes gleamed with excitement, I'm not sure if it's from going to a new country or the prospect of seeing Crock. Either way, perky doesn't quite fit here.

I still hadn't replied to Rabbit's comment when she walked in the door, so I took the opportunity to get creative with it. "Would you like the honors?" I asked and pointed to Brick, who was still snoring away. A nuclear bomb wouldn't wake him up.

She turned to the others who were still standing around her, "How about we do it together?"

I didn't quite know what she's planning. Neither did the others. But we all agreed nonetheless.

Rabbit got to work initiating her plan by moving the coffee table away from the couch and towards the far wall. She then walked to the head of the couch and grabbed one end in a lifting position. _Okay_, now I get it.

Jabberwocky got one end by himself; I helped Rabbit with the other end. We lifted it to where Queen and Caterpillar could get behind. Then we all worked in sync and tipped Hatter right onto the wood floor. That woke his ass up pretty quick.

Brick jumped up and pulled something that looked strangely like chicken wire from his pocket like he could use it against us. We all dropped the couch back in place and faced him.

The first one to break the silence was Jabberwocky, "How was your beauty rest?"

All of us busted up laughing except for Teapot, who didn't see the humor just yet. Maybe later.

"Oh come on, Hatter, we're just messing around," Caterpillar said (with his almost distinguishably foreign accent that none of us can place. Supposedly he was born in the Pacific Islands region and moved to Ireland, both of those dialects color his words to this day) as he wiped his eyes, trying to get away the misting from laughing so hard.

"Yeah, 'cause anyone just finds it hilarious when they're dumped off a couch in the middle of an awesome dream," He put his wire away and crossed his arms.

"What were you dreaming about?" Queen asked with less than innocent curiosity coloring her tone.

Teapot's face went into full blush mode as he tried to stammer out an answer, "I-It was a dream like any other," He finally decided on.

Rabbit nodded as the information soaked in, "So basically you dreamed about a girl, most likely naked and in a compromising situation."

Brick glared Rabbit down before finally cracking, "How'd you know?"

"Two words: Teenage boy," Rabbit said slowly as if speaking to small children.

Jabberwock followed Rabbit's train of thought and nodded thoughtfully. That's when he used his words in response (the guy's quiet, what can I say), "It was Barakova, wasn't it?"

I whipped around to look at Jabberwock with the best _what the hell_ expression I could muster. Sure, Hatter had a crush on me, that's obvious considering how many times he's asked me out and such. But dreaming about me naked? No thanks. At least I can control my actions in real life. Like perhaps kicking Hatter where it hurts for dreaming about _that_.

Brick's almost silent reply made me turn towards him, "Yup." He said it so casually, even popping the p at the end.

"You just have a death wish, huh?" I pondered.

He shrugged, "I answered honestly. Would you rather I lied and you find out about it later?"

Okay, he actually thought that through. I crossed my arms and let out a huff. No use in killing him now, dream or not.

Queen interrupted the glaring contest I was having with the King of Idiots, "No bloodshed? That's a new one."

"Violence isn't the answer!" Caterpillar piped up from his hiding spot behind Jabberwock.

"No it isn't," I agreed. Before he could respond I continued, "Violence is the question, the answer is yes." I snapped into action and caught Hatter with an uppercut punch. The Misfits backed away to give us space. It was our fight to start and finish on our own and they realized that.

He stumbled back before giving a toothy, although slightly bloody, grin. Um, what? That's when he yanked his hand back and something pulled on my right ankle. It made me fall and gravity was merciless, along with the bruising on my back from Scarlett knocking me down and the gun that was still in my waistband. While holding back a yelp of pain a realization hit me, he used that stupid chicken wire. When he looped it around my ankle, I didn't know.

A quick move and I had three kunai knives in my left hand and two in my right. In a single flourish one knife from my left hand cut the wire and the ones remaining went straight into the right sleeve of his jacket, pinning his arm to the wall. Unlike me, he isn't ambidextrous, so now he won't be able to do anything. Well, at least not well.

Hatter was trying vigorously to get one of the knives out of his sleeve when he noticed me getting up. When I was fully standing I just stood there, waiting for him to do something. He finally did by slipping one arm out of his jacket and then the other, presto he was free. Guess I didn't catch his long sleeve shirt with the knives. Hmm, try harder next time I guess.

He charged me empty handed. He isn't the King of Idiots for nothing. I stepped aside and he brushed against me. When I turned to face him, he had a gun pointed at my head. _My_ gun.

We were both breathing hard. I could feel my heart beating in my ears as I challenged him, "Do it. See if you even have the guts to take off the safety and pull the damn trigger."

Hatter was the only one of us that hasn't killed a single person to this day, besides Caterpillar. He always went for injuring instead of striking the final blow. Teapot made sure that even in the mob he didn't have to be the one doing the dirtiest work of them all. I guess he just isn't wired with the same kill-or-be-killed instinct the rest of us have.

With no surprise to me, he lowered the gun; albeit a bit shakily. His hands unclenched from the grip and my Browning fell to the floor.

"One day, Hatter, you're going to have to stop being so weak," I spat. Maybe it was from blind rage, maybe from Barakov finally getting to me after all these years. But I don't know what possessed me to say that.

He spit a bit of blood from his mouth onto the floor and smirked, "I'm not weak, just positively _mad._ We're all mad here."

"Not me," I defended.

"That's why you're Alice, my dear. An outsider looking in to a Wonderland, although ours _is_ more gruesome than your average fairytale," Teapot wasn't mocking, no. The tone in his voice was gentle, almost guiding. It made me even angrier.

"What happened to the Cheshire Cat?" I asked as I took a few steps closer to Hatter, this fight wasn't over yet after all.

He waved my comment off easily, "That was just about as much of an illusion as the cat itself."

"Well that's comforting," The sarcasm easily rolled off my tongue.

"Isn't it always?" He mocked and charged me.

In one swift, continuous move, I grabbed his arm and swung my left leg up to his neck, using both to pull him to the ground with myself. It ended with his neck resting on my calf, my thigh on his throat, his arm locked in my grip, and his other stuck under his back. I kneeled on my right knee to keep myself balanced.

"I've been wanting to try that move out for a while, thanks," I chided.

His response was a wheeze as my thigh was on his larynx, cutting off his air.

Before he started changing colors like a faulty mood ring I straightened my left leg out and got off his airway. As I stood up he stayed down with his hands in a "T" symbol.

"Time out," He coughed out.

"Fine with me," I muttered and rolled my eyes, backing away from him slightly.

The audience spoke up at that point. Rabbit specifically, "Is that what they're teaching you at Interpol?"

I scoffed, "As if, I came up with that on my own a week ago when I couldn't sleep." Wow, only a week ago my life was normal. Well, my definition of normal. Hell, only three days ago really.

Queen gave Hatter a hand up, along with some commentary. "That's what? The sixteenth time she's kicked your ass?"

"This year," He muttered.

"Get your act together, gringo," She looked like she was trying to add the sixteen to previous totals.

"Later," He protested. "For now Clo has some explaining to do," Hatter sure knew how to change a topic.

"You mean for why we're in Mother Russia?" Caterpillar pondered aloud. And that boy never just calls it Russia, it's always _Mother Russia_, and he's not even from here. I'm pretty sure this is his first visit too.

"Da," Hatter mocked, full accent and all laced into that one word.

"This is just a quick revenge for getting your ass kicked, huh?" I asked Teapot.

"Da," He repeated.

Let the explaining begin I guess. "Bottom line, I need your guys' help to get Barakov back, he's been kidnapped."

"Okay, that seems a little too simple to bring all of us in on," Rabbit started off, "So that's just the bottom line, but what's the top and in between?"

Leave it to Rabbit to ask that. "Ah, you see, that might be a little harder to explain and follow along logically."

Queen was handing me back my pistol, "The butterfly wing is missing. Does it have something to do with that?"

Firearms expert looking a bit too closely at my gun, should've seen that coming. "Yes and no. You know the charm was given to me by my parents. Well, I meet them about two, three days ago and took it off."

"Why?" Jabberwocky hashed out.

"It didn't seem like it meant anything after I met them. So I gave it back to them."

Caterpillar hopped over to my side, "Well what are they like? Huh?"

"Dad's a mute ninja and Mom's a stubborn ginger," I condensed it as much as possible.

"Anything else?" Caterpillar edged forward in anticipation.

"Uh," I blanked for a moment, "My former teacher Storm Shadow is apparently my uncle on my dad's side."

Rabbit tilted her head in concentration, "That guy who taught you how to kill everything with sharp objects?"

"That's the one," I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. They were all taking this pretty well, surprisingly. "Oh," I added on, "I also now know my birth name is Alexandria, Alex for short."

Queen scrutinized the information closely, "Correct me otherwise, but there seems to be something important missing from this information."

"You're right. My parents are both on some kickass-mystery squad that also wants to find Barakov. They seem to all have good intentions, but they didn't take kindly to me suggesting I go out to find him by myself when I was declined from helping them."

Caterpillar, being the little dork he is (some of the dorkiness is from Crock's influence) said the following, "So our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to go up against unknown kidnappers to save Barakov while also having to deal with avoiding the kickass-mystery squad?"

"Ten points for Caterpillar," Sarcasm just helps during stressful moments. That's my only excuse.

"I'm in," The kid stated almost immediately.

"Same here," Rabbit announced, "Who else would I steal vodka from if Barakov disappears from the planet?"

Jabberwocky looked a little hesitant, but didn't want to split from Rabbit's choice. "I'll help," He finally decided on.

Queen had been hashing it out with a thoughtful expression. Probably going through all the pros and cons individually, twice. "You have my assistance."

Everyone turned to Hatter, who was rinsing out his bloody mouth in the kitchen sink. "Yeah, sure," He managed through a mouthful of water.

A smirk fell right in place on my face, "Perfect."

**A/N: Quick update for the win! This chapter is pretty long, almost three thousand words. Don't get used to it. But hey, I had a good flow going into this chapter and I went with it. But don't expect another quick update, I have a shitload of school work to get through now. Two projects, an essay, and all the regular homework on top. Kill me now. *head desk* **

**Two quick thingamajigs. When Queen called Hatter "gringo", that essentially meant "white boy". Also, I'm going to start asking what your favorite characters are from each chapter besides Chloe. So out of the Misfits, who's your favorite? I like seeing your guys' opinions!**

**Well you know the drill. Review and all that. **_**Please!**_


	10. Disagreement

**Disclaimer: Not mine bitches. :)**

The Misfits are going to eat a semi-traditional Russian meal if it's the last thing that _any _of us do. Brick accused that I might poison it. Caterpillar threw in that it might just be poisoned accidentally due to my cooking skills. I promptly flipped both of them off for such comments. If there's one thing I can cook, its Russian food.

"Sorry I didn't take Wife Skills 101 like you Caterpillar," I spat out at the scrawny boy.

"C'mon, civilian names here," Jabberwock grunted out. He never did like the codename situation when it wasn't necessary.

"Fine. Sorry I didn't take Wife Skills 101 like you _Kahale_," Kahale is Caterpillar's first name in full, most of the time we just call him Hale. I looked at Jabberwock, "Better, Kane?"

Kane nodded, his solid white military cut bobbing along with him.

I ignored the rest of the protests from the peanut gallery and began pulling out pans to wash for dinner. They, like everything else, had gotten dusty over the years. Once all the ones I needed were checked off my mental list I began washing the biggest pot first to start on the soup.

Once I had the water in the pot spiced with the regular musts, onions, celery, garlic, dill, peppers, and bay leaf, I finished washing the other pans and moving on to cooking the beef for said soup. It was a bit of a pain in the ass, but I finally got it cooked to perfection (in my opinion) and added it into the seasoned water along with cabbage, parsley roots, and finely chopped apples. It was sent to the backburner of the stove to sit on low heat to stew.

For the main dish, I already bought the dough pre-made to wrap the meat in. So there's a heads up. I fried up pork, lamb, and beef to wrap in the dough. Once that was done, the meat was mixed with peppers and onions, wrapped neatly in the dough and placed in the oven to brown.

As all that was going I decided I mine as well make dessert, I still had left over dough after all. So my hands instinctively started rolling out the dough into one long cylinder two centimeters in diameter. I cut the dough at relatively ten centimeter intervals. I then put the ends of each individual piece of dough together to make little circles. Those also got put in the oven.

By that time the soup was about ready to be served. I grabbed out six bowls and plates and utensil sets; those were washed and set aside. None of the bowls matched and the utensils barely did, it was a mis-fitting set. That pun brought a small smile to my face. Not one of my best jokes, but I like the novelty of it.

The rye bread and smetana, essentially Russian sour cream, were set next to the bowls. I got to ladling the soup into each of the bowls. In the end it was all served with a dollop of smetana and a piece of rye bread. That's how we do it in my house bitches.

"Come and get it!" I yelled out.

Rabbit came bounding up and took one look before a smile broke out on her face. "Shchi?" She asked like a small child for a lollipop.

"Correct," I confirmed, "There's also pelmeni and vatrushka coming up."

Brick looked on cluelessly at the names of the courses. "That sounds dangerous," He muttered.

I rolled my eyes and clarified the dishes, "Shchi is like cabbage soup. Pelmeni is basically Russian ravioli filled with meat. Vatrushka is like a doughnut with fruit."

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" Queen, sorry Evita (occasionally Eva or Eve), asked with a sneer.

"Because the names are easier than the explanation," I clarified.

They took their bowls with a few more grumbles and went back to the living room. I did the last checks to make sure the pelmeni was coming along alright and joined them with my own bowl.

"First order of business," I stated cautiously, "We need a plan for how to get Barakov back."

Rabbit/Helena (real name)/Sasha (model alias) groaned, "This would be greatly improved by vodka."

"That's why I made sure it's hidden. We need to be serious here. Alcoholic plans never work, remember Dublin?" Every one of us gave an involuntary shiver at the mention of Dublin. That was the last plan ever made while drinking.

"Never speak of it again," Hale shook his head sadly. Out of all of us, he was the most embarrassed about that job, and he wasn't even officially there, just doing the behind the scenes as usual.

A chorus of "Agreed" flitted throughout the small room.

"Back to business," Kane prompted, keeping us in check.

"Yeah, that. I was thinking about trying to contact Storm Shadow, see what he knows about the situation," My idea was thrown out there, time for the other's to add their input.

Evita looked at me like I lost my mind, "I know you didn't have much sanity to begin with, but I'm starting to think the rest went on vacation."

Hale quickly added his two cents in before diving back into his soup, "I'm with Red, that isn't a good idea."

I glared at the remaining three, hoping for positive feedback.

Brick looked a little frightened, but that didn't deter him, "Seriously Clo, the guy's lost his marbles. Why should we go searching for a guy like that?"

Helena looked like she was fighting a battle over what and who to agree with, "Listen, I'll back you up this time, but if things get sticky then I'm out."

Kane shook his head in what looked like disappointment, "I'm with you Chloe, no matter what these guys say." That shocked me, the next even more so, "You shouldn't have to lose Barakov, even if we have to go searching for a weapon-wielding-psycho."

It snapped into place as to why Kane whole-heartedly backed me up. He was ripped away from his parents when he was only 12 for the experiments that made him what he is today. The guy has an up close and personal view as to what it's like to lose that major parental influence in your life. I patted the big guy on the shoulder and gave a small smile for his benefit.

As an excuse to slip away for a second I went to go check on the pelmeni. Just in time too. They were done as of this moment and would've burned if they were in there any longer. They all got put onto plates and I slowly delivered them out. It only took two trips to grab everything thankfully.

We all slowly dug in with a somber atmosphere settling over the room. Kane was the only one who completely had my back, not that there's anything wrong with him, but it pretty much made me feel like shit. So much for friends. Even business associates would semi-back me in my plan.

I finally broke the silence after chewing sounds starting gnawing directly on my eardrums, "Listen, you guys don't have to follow me. All I need is intel from him. Then we can go off on our merry way with the rest of the plan we have _yet to come up with_." I enunciated every last word and spoke in a tone leaving no room for argument without a beating.

"Fine, as long as I don't have to see him," Evita crossed her arms and put her empty plate on the coffee table. There's one.

"Gah, alright!" Brick exclaimed as my stare down finally worked. And Two.

My glare turned to Hale. He held his hands up in surrender, "Whatever you say, Jedi Master." There goes three.

I quickly coughed out the word, "Dork," before looking at Helena for the final answer.

"Damn peer pressure," She muttered, "Looks like you know my answer then, no matter how stupid this is." And that's all of them.

With restraint, I didn't do a happy dance. "Glad that's settled," I said as professionally as I could. It probably came out smug, like I expected them to come to my side no matter what.

Hale put his head down on the edge of the table, "I feel like I just joined the Dark Side."

"Make one more Star Wars reference and both you and Crock will get a firm lesson (beating) in going too far on a nerd rampage," I threatened. I don't have anything against the movies, I actually like them, but you can only take the dorkness for so long.

"Speaking of the Australian boy," Evita brought to attention, "Where is Crock anyways?"

"I have not a clue," I admitted.

Brick looked at me like I was crazy, I've been on the receiving end of too many of those tonight, "I thought you were at Interpol only three days ago."

"I was."

"Then shouldn't you know where Crock is!?" He exclaimed.

"No. After the exposure of the base's location due to Barakov's kidnapping Interpol probably moved the unit by now. I won't know where unless I try to check in which means automatically going back to base and essentially being 'grounded' for running away. I wouldn't be able to leave and my parents would be free to pick me up as they wish."

"Well that sucks chimpanzee balls…" Hale muttered, obviously sad. I know he didn't learn that phrase on his own, damn it Crock.

To avoid more questioning I went to check up on dessert. The little "doughnuts" were done. I grabbed out the cottage cheese and fruit to go with it. Everything was put in place and I brought the small desserts out on napkins for everyone.

Teapot took one look at it and put it back on the table. "I thought you said it was like a doughnut."

"Shut up and eat," I mumbled through a mouthful of vatrushka.

I heard something that sounded suspiciously like, "Evil, evil woman." For the time being, it was ignored.

The small things were all finished off quickly and all that was left was clean up. The kitchen was already clean because I cleaned most of the mess up as I went along. All that was left was doing the dishes. Hale ended up volunteering for dish duty while everyone else tried to figure out sleeping arrangements. He'll make a good wife one day. In all truth, we all looked content to fall asleep on the floor right now if it meant rest. Looks like I'm not the only one having trouble sleeping lately.

Hale finished up the dishes and came back out in the living room to find us still hashing stuff out. It became an argument on which was better; hollow-point bullets or solid-point bullets. Evita and Helena seemed to be the main competitors there. An arms expert versus the sniper, no matter how interesting it seemed I was nodding off.

Caterpillar was too. He was stretching out on the couch with his feet on Kane's lap. When I was lucid enough to notice I walked to the hall closet and grabbed one of the blankets wrapped in a protective plastic. With a quick shake it was back to normal. I shuffled Kane off the couch and put the heavy blanket on Hale after making sure his shoes were off.

Kane gave me a suspicious look. I could be caring after all, is that so hard to believe? Apparently.

I gave up with the bickering going on three feet from my ears. With a small wave for them to shut up I said, "Sleep where you want in the other apartments, I'm going to bed in here. We'll leave to see Storm Shadow tomorrow morning."

They agreed well enough, or so I thought, I was too tired to care really. I retreated to my bedroom in the back of the apartment with my bag. I changed into the pair of pajamas I brought from Interpol, which turned out to be striped fleece pants and a shirt that Crock got me for my birthday last year that said "life should have background music". It was comfortable.

So without further ado, I stripped the mattress of its dust cover and old sheets, replaced the sheets with new ones and grabbed a blanket. I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. But the distinct feeling that shit was going to hit the fan crept into my subconscious.

**A/N: I finally finished those projects and that essay. It feels like a boulder was lifted off my back. Now its winter break, so I should be writing more if I don't procrastinate too much. Don't count on it. Kind of a short chapter this time. Well, I'm as tired as Chloe is at the end of the chapter, so I'm gonna go to sleep now. **

**Remember to say what your favorite character of the chapter is; I never know when your guys' opinions change otherwise. So yeah, favorite character, review, all that stuff. Night.**


	11. Journey

**Disclaimer: I asked for G.I. Joe for Christmas, but that still doesn't make it mine.**

Waking up isn't hard. Waking up and feeling someone else in the bed with me when I went to bed alone, well that's plenty difficult for the person snuggling me. I tried to turn over but there was a solid grip on my waist. By the arms, it seemed to be Brick, judging by the scar on the inside of his left wrist. If memory serves, I think I gave that scar to him the first time he dared to slap my ass. Ah, reminiscing.

Brick groaned, realizing I shifted. "Morning," He mumbled.

"Let go of me," I growled.

"Why?"

"Because I will tear all your nails out of your fingers and toes if you do not." That's normal pillow talk, right?

He sighed, "Sounds nice."

"Are you drunk?" I asked in all seriousness.

"Nah,"

"Then you should have enough sense to let go of me." Well, it's still Brick. Common sense is optional with him.

"I'm gonna go with no," He pressed his head into the curve of my neck, "You smell nice."

"You're a pig," I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see. With a quick jab to the pressure point just under his left armpit his arm released from my waist. I got up quickly after that, no reason to have him pulling me back as his own personal teddy bear.

"That hurt," He groaned and rolled over to his stomach.

"Wonderful," I mocked. "Now get up, we have somewhere to be."

I left Brick to his own devices and went to go do something actually productive. The first thing on my mind was arranging transportation. With a quick phone call on the landline in the lobby and a promise of a large sum of money, everything was set in place. I took my trek up the stairs slowly.

Helena was the first one I saw when I entered the first apartment. She was sitting on the couch in her pajamas with a bowl in her hand and a bottle with clear liquid on the coffee table.

I scoffed, "Vodka for breakfast?"

"Correct, considering what you're dragging us into starting today, it seems appropriate," She lifted the spoon from her bowl to reveal plain looking corn flakes. The milk in the bowl was watered down from the vodka.

"Oh hush," I snapped. "Is everyone else still sleeping?"

"Hale is talking with Kane in the next apartment over. Eva is in the third apartment sleeping off her own jetlag. And last I checked Brick decided to go snuggle with you." She said the last part with a smile.

I ignored her mocking delight, "What time is it?"

"About seven," She estimated.

I swiped the bottle of vodka from the coffee table, "I'm gonna go wake the beast," I referred to Evita, "Can you tell the guys to start getting ready?"

"Yeah, yeah," She waved me off and took a sip of the vodka-milk mix from her bowl.

I left out the door to the apartment and walked over to the third door on my right. The door wasn't locked, surprisingly. Let's just say I wasn't surprised though to see Evita with all her guns (which is a whole damn lot) spread out and disassembled for cleaning on the floor. She was in the middle, reassembling a small silver pistol.

"You're heavily armed this trip," I leaned against the doorway.

"I prefer the term prepared," She smirked as she finished with the pistol and moved on to what looked like an assault rifle.

"For what?"

"The worst," Her reply was clipped.

"Prepared for the worst? That term seems overused," Sarcasm activate.

The sharp sound of metal snapping into place overshadowed the glare sent my way, "You're the one who brought us into this. That could easily lead to certain death."

"Glad to know you have so much faith in me. We're leaving in a little over an hour, I suggest you get ready," With that I left her to her own devices.

A swig from the vodka bottle still in my hand made me feel a little better. Maybe alcoholism should be the next path I try walking down. I went back into the first apartment and saw Brick exiting the room I slept in. Walking right past him, I went into the room Barakov usually keeps as his own.

Under the floor boards were funds and assorted blank passports, both from an obscure amount of countries. I got to work on gathering currency from Japan. That's where I assumed Storm Shadow to be at the very least and it would pay for our transportation there. If he wasn't there, I was screwed. If I was screwed, then Barakov is screwed. Well, not entirely. The kickass-mystery seemed to have their shit together (minus FedEx), but whoever took Barakov would have to be smart, smarter than them most likely.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Brick asked from the doorway as I collected stacks of currency.

"Nothing," I tried to keep casual.

"Wrong, you look like you're about to murder someone. That means you're thinking about something that pisses you off. What is it?"

With a sigh I replaced the floor boards back in their spots and sat cross-legged on the floor, facing Brick. "The possibility that Storm Shadow knows anything about Barakov's location or kidnappers is already low. The possibility that Storm Shadow would be found to even get that information is even lower. The idea of finding Barakov is going downhill just by those statistics."

"You know the exact statistics for how likely this whole adventure thing is to succeed?"

"Of course. I have thought this through after all." The very encouraging statistic for finding Storm Shadow was around 0.0019%. That was if he didn't want to be found. If he was completely willing to be found that was going to shoot right up. But a ninja never exactly _wants _to be found.

"I'm scared to ask how low it is," He sat down three feet from me.

"You should be," I muttered.

"What?" He didn't hear me.

"You shouldn't ask then," I spoke up.

"Right," He drawled out suspiciously.

"Shut up," I stood up and walked past him to go get ready myself. It was going to be a long day.

_**~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~**_

The private plane ride to Japan consisted of a lot of arguing among all of us. Eva was still going on about how this was a horrible idea. Kane went against her. Hale _tried_ to play peace maker but ended up hiding in the bathroom on board. Helena attempted to coax the techie out of there because she had to use the bathroom herself. Brick then thought it'd be plenty fun to start a fresh argument about how I mentioned the statistics for success were low as is. I gave up at that point and started cleaning my katanas and assorted other knives. No matter how much pushing Eva did to get me to admit it's a bad idea to even go through with this, I wouldn't budge.

Honestly, I don't know how the pilot didn't throw us off his plane.

When we landed, it was a miracle we were all alive. For the most part at least. Brick was sporting a new cut on his arm, courtesy of me. I didn't do any intentional damage though, it mine as well be a paper cut.

"Great, we're on an abandoned airstrip," Eva was sure to point out.

I adjusted my duffel bag on my shoulder, "Not so abandoned." I pointed to the SUV waiting for us just down the pavement. I arranged everything up to this point to a t.

We all hopped in the SUV and I started the ignition, despite protests about me driving. Reckless is the new safe in my opinion.

"Where're we going Captain?" Hale asked from the passenger's seat. He had called dibs on the seat and no one bothered to interfere.

"Not far," I turned onto a winding dirt road.

"That's not a place," He pointed out.

"I can't tell you the location, that's called suicide." Storm Shadow would kill me for letting the location of his dojo be leaked.

Hale slumped in his seat at that point, seeing no point in arguing.

The points of a pagoda roof were starting to show in the distance. I stopped the car.

"Why are we stopping?" Helena asked from the seat directly behind mine.

"This is where I get out. I have to talk to him alone," I pulled the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to Hale. From there I slid out of the car. "Stay here if you want to live," I warned. From my bag I pulled out my katanas and strapped the sheathes to my back. All my other knives were secure in their little hiding positions and my Browning was in a holster on my thigh. My duffel was placed back in the car and I started the trek towards the dojo.

After a short walk (in my opinion at least) I was standing on the steps leading up to the entrance to the oriental styled building. I just stood there; if my entrance was admitted then it was admitted. Snooping around without permission would be a direct sign of disrespect.

Finally, my waiting paid off.

A blade was placed against my neck as a cold voice spoke, "State your business."

Without even seeing his face, I knew whose voice it was.

I gently pushed the blade away from my neck and turned around to face Storm Shadow, bowing when I was fully turned. "I wish for your help, Sensei."

**A/N: I'm just gonna end that there. Short chapter, what can ya do? Well, my computer broke, otherwise this chapter would've been up about three or four days ago. Sorry. It's fixed now though and everything is fine. School exams just finished also, so that's great. It honestly took a lot out of me, so writing barely crossed my mind. So writing was pretty far down my list even though I couldn't update anyways. Standard procedure, who's your favorite Misfit as of now?**

**Read. _Enjoy_. Review.**


	12. Information

**Disclaimer: Ha! You're funny, you know that? Not a chance I own G.I. Joe or any other recognizable reference.**

"It's been a while," Storm Shadow smirked as he opened the door to the dojo.

"Four years," I specified as I walked through the doorway.

"So that makes you sixteen now?" He asked as he closed the door behind me.

"Yes," I answered stiffly. It didn't seem like Storm Shadow was going to pull anything just yet, but surprise tests are always an option to consider.

Storm Shadow wandered over to where the kitchen was, if memory served. "Why are you here?" He called out.

"I already told you, I need your help."

"But with what?"

"Barakov's been kidnapped."

"So you want me to help you find him?" Storm Shadow came out from the kitchen carrying two glasses for tea.

"I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you know about his location."

Storm Shadow raised a single eyebrow, "You assume I know something?"

"More like hope," I clarified.

Storm Shadow was silent, he went back into the kitchen and came back out with a tea kettle. He poured tea into both of the glasses he brought out earlier and sat at a low table off to the side of the room. He gestured for me to sit, which I did.

"What would you do if I did know something?" He almost teased. I could see the look in his eye, this was a test.

Let's see, I could react like the aggressive person he trained me to be and demand an answer. Or I could play this like the respectful student and ask politely. Maybe I could just leap over the table and put a knife to his throat until he speaks. There are possibilities galore. "Honestly, I might just put a knife in your abdomen for the information. It'll bleed a lot, very painful, but it won't kill you all too quickly."

He laughed. "If you could even get close to me."

"True, but maybe I don't need threats of pain to get you to hand over the information." I was just toying with him at this point, well that and I was at the last straw of my patience.

"Go on," He looked indifferent, but his eyes betrayed him. He was curious as to what I would say.

"Let me start with a question." I pulled one of my katanas out of the sheaths on my back. I pointed to the red symbol near the hilt. "Do you know who else operates under this symbol? 'Cause I learned a few days ago."

"Your father?" Storm Shadow answered my question in his own unsure tone. He wanted to throw me off, if I didn't actually know who my father was I would've jumped at his answer.

"Exactly, Snake Eyes I think was his name. Then there was my mother, I think you've met her too." Toying with Storm Shadow isn't one of my smartest ideas, but I honestly hope it works before he kills me.

"What are you getting at, Chloe?" He gritted his teeth.

I smirked; this dangerous game was paying off. "Well, they approached me right after Barakov's kidnapping. They wanted me to go with them to some secret base instead of going after Barakov myself. I escaped before they could get the shackles out. But ultimately, they're searching for Barakov with their own team. If they find him first then they have something on me to make me join them. You don't want me to join them now, do you?"

"No, I don't." He sipped his tea calmly.

"Glad we're on the same page. Now, are you going to tell me what information you know?"

"Perhaps, first I want you to tell me what that SUV down the road is doing on my property." He referred to where the Misfits were.

I cleared my throat, "That's my team. They're going to help me find Barakov in due time."

"Why'd you bring them here?"

"They wouldn't appreciate being left all alone in Russia."

"Since when do you spare other's feelings?" He smirked in his own cold way.

I chuckled, "Since when do you care? You haven't been my teacher for four long years, Sensei."

"Yet you still address me as Sensei."

"Merely a sign of respect. Busting down your door and trying to shoot you doesn't work as well as respect."

"Good point."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "We're getting off point here. Do you know anything about Barakov's location or his kidnappers?"

"I do," He smirked again, that familiar cold look clouding over his eyes.

"Are you going to tell me?" I stopped myself from gritting my teeth in agitation.

"On one condition."

"Name it," I spat out.

"You have to deliver a message to your father the next time you see him, which will most likely be soon."

"What's the message?" I asked cautiously.

"Just tell him 'we're due for a rematch'."

The meaning was obvious, but who won last time? And why is a rematch necessary? "I'll tell him."

"Good, now let me tell you what you're asking about."

_**~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~**_

After Storm Shadow finished talking and we said our goodbyes, I sprinted back to the SUV. Once I got back there I opened the door and hopped in, snatching the keys from Hale in the process. After a quick turn the engine roared to life.

"Whoa, what's the hurry, Clo?" Brick asked from the very backseat.

"I know where we need to go," I jerked the wheel and put us in reverse so the SUV would turn around.

"Care to enlighten us?" Kane asked from the seat directly behind mine.

"We're going to Scotland."

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm just not feeling all too well today. I'll try to make a longer chapter next time to make up for this shortie. Hope you liked the chapter, have a nice day. Remember to say who your current favorite Misfit is, I like seeing who you guys pick. **

**Read. **_**Enjoy.**_** Review.**


	13. Ready

**Disclaimer: That's really funny you know. Me owning G.I. Joe? Freakin' hilarious. **

I pulled out a cell phone I took from the apartment and starting pressing buttons to arrange transport. The pilot who got us here already left by my own instruction. I spoke quickly in Japanese to get a pilot out to the airstrip. It would take a little while and I'd have to give up a bunch of money, but it's worth it in the long run. So with that in mind I hung up the phone, rolled down the window, threw the phone in front of the car, and ran over it with the left front tire.

"Drastic much?" Hale asked from the passenger's seat.

"Not at all," I replied and focused on getting us back to the airstrip.

"Alrighty then." Hale sunk down in his seat.

In a few minutes we were back at the airstrip. There was still about a half-hour's wait until the pilot will get here, but after that it's a direct path to Scotland.

I parked the SUV at the edge of the cement and opened my door. I shifted my legs to where they were hanging off the edge of the chair. With a deep breath of fresh air in my lungs I tried to think. God, I just wanted to scream so badly. Instead I leaned over and put my head on my knees, my arms wrapped around my legs.

After my quick moment of silence, I started putting my thoughts into a legible order. The priorities became sorted out. I was taught to think my way out of worse things for this specific reason. _I can do this_.

Without an extra second I sat back up and turned to Hale, "You got your laptop?"

"Yeah," He shifted to look at me as he paused the handheld game he was playing.

"Got a power source and an internet connection?"

"Always," He opened the bag at his feet and pulled out a black box no bigger than a decently sized novel. "What cha need Boss Lady?" He then pulled out his laptop and attached it to the black box.

"I need you to look a little something up for me," I smirked as the gears in my head started to turn.

_**~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~**_

The plane took almost an hour to get to the airstrip, but that was just fine with me. It gave me time to come up with a basic plan based on the information I had Hale look up. Once we were on the plane I began briefing everyone on the plan.

I pulled up a picture on Hale's computer and made sure everyone saw, "This is James McCullen, weapons extraordinaire. Storm Shadow told me that if I found him, Barakov wouldn't be far ahead. McCullen is an old associate of Storm Shadow's and disappeared off the face of the Earth four years ago. He just made his resurface yesterday. He's throwing himself a little 'welcome back' party tomorrow night at his manor. That's our chance. Any questions?"

Evita spoke from where she was glaring at the screen, "How are we supposed to get into this _fiesta_?"

"The evening's guest list is actually quite loose, he's probably looking for easy investors. Helena should be able to get in just by her status in the modeling world. I can get in myself by pulling a few strings with my extended family. We should both be able to bring plus ones and case the place from there," I leaned against the built in table Hale's laptop was resting on and crossed my arms.

"Extended family? You never did explain that," Brick sat way back in his chair, almost sliding off of the leather seating.

"I'm about as blood related to them as I am to any of you, which is about zero percent thankfully. They specialize in… rather criminalist affairs. One of my 'aunts' has an actual front for a real business. I should be able to call her and persuade her to let me attend the party as a representative of said business."

"So we're only casing the place at night, no actual action in the 'Saving Barakov' front?" Helena sat across from me on the leather couch, beside Kane.

I reconsidered the plan around what Helena said. There was a severe possibility that all this could just be useless and a waste of everyone's time. "He's holding a brunch for his closer partners in the business world. But that's locked down pretty tight. We could try to case the place then while McCullen is busy, and then actually confront McCullen if necessary at the party."

"Sounds plausible," Kane muttered as he rested his chin on the hand of the arm that was propped up on the couch's armrest.

"Thank you," I appraised his sincerity in the process.

He took his chin off his hand and leaned towards me, "I wasn't finished. It sounds plausible, but still incredibly dangerous."

"So is every other thing this little rag tag group plans," I accused. Too many times have we come close to death just for a job.

"This is different. McCullen is a weapons extraordinaire, you already said that. So any guards at the party are going to be outfitted with the latest deadly toy and any other security measures could kill us before we have a chance to think that this was a bad idea," He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. I know he was just trying to come up with a better plan.

"Listen, I'm going to be working all night to find blueprints of his manor so we won't even have to case the place. If it comes down to it, and we do have to case the place, I'll do it. None of you will have to risk your tails against some guard or security measure," I tried reasoning, now there's just telling them we're doing it my way or they're back on a flight to wherever they came from.

"You'll case the entire manor, all by yourself, in the two hours that the brunch is happening?" Evita asked in disbelief. "That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, just a bit tougher than usual. Kinda like the possibility of your love life." I smirked at the scowl Eve shot back at me.

_**~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~Newest Generation~**_

I did just as I said. I stayed up all night and most of the early morning scouring for the blueprints across all interfaces useful for a person like me. The results that came up? Nada. Zilch. Not a damn thing. That was pretty much a slap to the face.

But just like I also said, I was getting ready to case the place personally. We needed that layout or we were screwed worse than a fifty cent whore. So I pulled on my Black Cat outfit, consisting of a black shirt long sleeve shirt with the stomach showing, tight black pants with plenty of holsters for weapons, a black utility belt of sorts filled with deadly goodies, my black knee-high laced boots with knife inserts on both sides of the calf and in the sole for added kick. Along with my leather gloves with knife inserts filled, I was ready to go and not leave a trace of myself in the process. Although, if any guards do see me, they should be too distracted by the outfit and hesitate just a bit. That's what I'm going for here. Well, along with deadly, but I think my weapons fill that role.

Right as I was standing at the door of the safe house we arrived in last night, fingertips barely brushing the brass handle, I felt something I haven't felt in a long time.

Fear.

Usually I'm so confident in my abilities that fear isn't even a listed option on the multiple choice questionnaire of my current standing. Honestly, have I really been dense enough to not realize how badly this could go wrong with just a slip of the finger? The people who took Barakov had to be better than him, not just have surprise as an advantage. That means they're most likely better than me, even with the combined skills from a mishmash of teachers picked up in all of my years.

Maybe I should have gone with my parents after all. I allowed myself just one moment of regret before opening the door.

A voice stopped me just as I was about to cross the threshold. "Wait up there, Clo."

I turned and a smile instantly wormed its way onto my face. There was Hale standing in his pajamas. Bed head so fierce it could be a nesting ground for wild animals. In his outstretched hands were three little pieces of equipment that looked like heaven.

"Here's a communicator, microphone, and camera. I'll be right by your side, metaphorically of course. You know I don't do that ninja sneaky stuff," Hale dropped the equipment into my hands gently, like they were all tiny versions of his own children.

"Thanks for this. It'll be easier to map out the layout this way." I put the communicator in my ear like a small Bluetooth headset. The microphone got pinned to the collar of my black shirt. The only thing I was having a hard time with was the camera. The damn thing wouldn't stay on the strap right below my breasts that keep knife holsters in place on my upper back.

"For the love of Jesus, give it to me," Hale held out his hand for the camera.

"You're gonna put it on me?" I asked, stifling a laugh.

"No shit, huh?" He looked at me like I was a complete idiot at that moment. He held his hand out once more and his fingers twitched impatiently, like he drank too much caffeine recently.

"Fine," I dropped the camera in his hand and stood still.

With a swift movement the camera was neatly placed in a way that could capture all footage necessary. "There, that wasn't so bad. I didn't cop a feel or anything," Hale grinned like a little devil.

"You're gay, it wouldn't count anyway." I turned to leave, "Thanks again."

Hale spoke levelly as I was once again about to cross the threshold of the doorway. "Just be careful, okay?"

I gaped for a moment. Careful wasn't quite in my vocabulary. Apparently a response wasn't dignified as I felt a weight slam into my back. Hale's skinny arms wrapped around my waist like tiny snakes.

I gave his linked hands resting on my stomach a careful pat. "I'll be fine. I always am right?"

That was the only lie I've ever told that I will always regret.

**A/N: I'm back! Been a while since I've written this story, kinda missed it. But what's this? Story progression? Oh my! I feel like I make too many filler chapters in my stories, so excuse me. I just noticed, this is a really Hale-heavy chapter. I kind like it. Once again, you know the drill. Who's your favorite Misfit, and why? Have a nice day all of you.**

**Read. _Enjoy_. Review.**


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